


Rhythms

by thefooliam



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 156,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefooliam/pseuds/thefooliam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brittany graduates and moves to New York, Santana realizes that all her dreams are coming true, just not how she expected. A sequel to the (I've Got To Admit) It's Getting Better - New Years Trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storms

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to 4x18 “Shooting Stars”.

It starts with a text message somewhere in the middle of April.

 

 _I need a favor from my best friend_ , is all it says.

 

There’s a smiley face tagged on the end of it and Santana’s stomach drops as she glances at the clock. She has to be at work in an hour, and she’s already running late, but she answers the text anyway, knowing full well that she might be hopping on the next plane to Ohio because of it.

 

 _Sure, Britt_ , she writes back. _What’s up?_

 

Brittany doesn’t text back straight away and Santana’s climbing the stairs at First Avenue station when her phone vibrates a second time. Her heart almost stops at what she reads.

 

 _I’m moving to New York_ , Brittany writes. _I got into NYU. Do you think I could stay with you?_

 

Santana stops and stares long enough that the crowds start to push her in the wrong direction. She types her words without thinking as she pushes back through the people.

 

 _Of course_ , she writes… and that’s how she ends up living with her ex-girlfriend in New York.

 

//

 

Except that nothing ever goes to plan.

 

She spends three days planning how she’s going to talk to Rachel and Kurt only for them to be waiting up for her one morning at 6am when she gets home from work.

 

They look nervous and they’re whispering conspiratorially together as she wanders in. Their backs straighten when they see her and she looks at them with a half-amused smirk because she’s too tired to make fun of them. They look like serial killers and she grabs an empty coffee cup before sitting down at the table in front of them.

 

Her smile drops when they’re still staring at her five minutes later.

 

“What?” she asks, only half worried.

 

They share a knowing look before Kurt pours her a cup of coffee as Rachel stirs in the right amount of sugar and cream.

 

“We need to tell you something,” Rachel starts softly. Santana’s eyes flick between the pair of them.

 

“What?” she says because she’s too tired for this.

 

Rachel nods at Kurt, Kurt takes a deep breath and Santana wants to punch them both in the face.

 

“Blaine’s moving in,” he says and, just as quickly, Santana’s stomach drops.

 

Except, her brain works fast and words are bubbling from her before she can even realize.

 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s okay. I’m moving out.”

 

//

 

It takes a while for her to truly convince them that she was planning to move out before. They only barely believe it when she does. When they find out that Brittany wanted to stay with them, they believe it even less.

 

“Well, no,” Santana argues for about the millionth time. “As soon as Britt told me she was moving here, I figured that something would have to change, you know? It was no secret that the Warbler wanted to come to New York and, as hilarious as it might be, watching Kurt’s old boyfriend get to know his new boyfriend is not something I want to be around for…” She ignores the way Kurt purses his lips and turns to Rachel. “Plus, I figure that it’s only so long before the over-grown man child gets his way and talks himself into your bed again…”

 

Rachel sighs and Kurt shakes his head.

 

“I’d rather live with Britt than be here for all your drama,” she tells them, hating the way that they instantly look at her dubiously.

 

“She’s your ex,” Kurt reminds her.

 

“Your ex who is dating someone else,” Rachel goes on. “Do you really think moving in with her is a good idea? What if Sam visits? What’ll happen then?”

 

She stands up and sighs in irritation. “I’ll deal with it because I’m an adult and Brittany’s my best friend,” she tells them.

 

Rachel looks at her carefully. “I thought you said it was impossible to be friends with an ex?” she says. “Have you even talked to her since you’ve been here?”

 

Santana swallows and puts her coffee cup in the sink.

 

“Brittany’s my best friend,” she tells them pointedly. “And that’s none of your business.”

 

//

 

It may not seem like it but they do talk… more than people might expect.

 

Santana would be the first to admit that things were kind of weird after their break-up. She didn’t know what to say to Brittany or even if she was allowed to. She didn’t know how to cope with the shame that she felt every single time she saw her.

 

But that changed when she got to New York. Brittany text her the morning after she arrived asking her if she got there okay. Santana text back and then Brittany called her a few days later to ask her how she was settling in. That’s how they learned to be best friends again: through regular text messages and weekly phone calls on Sunday mornings before Brittany got up for breakfast.

 

Except, lately, the text messages are a daily thing and the phone calls are more frequent; Brittany texts her when she’s in class and, sometimes, when she can’t sleep after work, Santana will text Brittany ‘good morning’. Sure, Brittany doesn’t talk about Sam and Santana doesn’t tell Brittany about the girls that slip their numbers into her pockets when she’s at the bar, but they talk about school and about New York and that’s okay.

 

It’s okay because now those things are coming together.

 

//

 

The next couple of months are a lot of planning and a lot of Kurt and Rachel asking her if she’s sure about what she’s doing.

 

She goes back to Ohio to see Brittany’s graduation and it makes her nervous about everything because seeing her in person makes it feel real. They talk about the apartment that Santana hasn’t found yet and Brittany gives her a piece of paper with her flight details on it.

 

They hug when they part and Santana kisses Brittany on the cheek and tells her ‘congratulations’ for about the hundredth time.

 

It’s not awkward; if anything Santana feels nothing but excited and nervous.

 

She goes back to New York and spends any time she’s not at work sleeping, eating or looking for apartments.

 

Rachel and Kurt look at her like she’s crazy but she ignores them because this is the first time she’s felt like she’s doing the right thing in a long time.

 

//

 

She finds them a two bedroom in Williamsburg a week before Brittany’s due to move there.

 

It’s nothing special. There’s no elevator, their two views are of the busy street below them and the fire escapes of neighboring buildings, but there’s heating and the reassurance of a recent visit from the exterminator.

 

The might have to listen to the noise of the city at all hours of the day but at least they’re allowed pets and have a bathtub.

 

There’s not much more that Santana can ask for. She just has to wait.

 

//

 

Blaine and Brittany arrive in New York early on a Saturday morning.

 

Rachel and Kurt meet Santana from work and the three of them catch a cab to JFK even though they have hours before their plane even touches down.

 

They sit in Starbucks and fill themselves with coffee, half asleep until the arrival of their flight is called. Santana stands up slowly and walks towards the gate but they still have to wait a while before she finds a sleepy blond head appearing through the crowd.

 

Brittany’s smile is big and bright and Santana returns it easily no matter how tired she is. She sets her bags at her feet and wraps Santana in a hug. They both laugh and Santana closes her eyes against the wave of reality that rushes through her because Brittany’s here.

 

She’s _here_ and she’s staying.

 

//

 

They have to pick up Lord Tubbington before they can leave but Santana’s honestly never been happier to see that fat ass cat.

 

They take the subway back to Brooklyn and even though Santana’s ready to collapse in exhaustion, she agrees to get breakfast with the others. Brittany sits beside her and they drink coffee and eat pancakes as they catch up.

 

The nerves only pick up when Rachel remembers she has rehearsal and she, Kurt and Blaine decide to head back to their apartment. They say goodbye outside on street and promise to meet up for dinner soon.

 

Santana hails her and Brittany a cab once they’ve gone and doesn’t realize how truly nervous she is until she’s sitting silently in a still unmoving cab.

 

“Santana…” Brittany says and Santana looks at her in confusion until she giggles and nods at the driver. “I don’t know where we’re going,” she explains and Santana’s cheeks warm. She reels off the address she can only just remember and doesn’t look at Brittany until she feels a hand on hers. “Calm down,” Brittany smiles. “It’s just me.”

 

Santana nods and looks out the window, not sure if that’s the problem.

 

//

 

Brittany slows as she walks into the apartment ahead of her and it makes Santana panic.

 

She closes the door and pushes Brittany’s bags against the wall as she steps up behind her. She avoids Brittany’s eyes as shame begins to fill her along with the overwhelming need to explain herself. 

 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I know that it’s not the best place in the world but—”

 

Brittany cuts her off quickly. “It’s perfect,” she says softly. Santana moves closer to look at her carefully and find truth. Her brow is soft and she’s smiling. “It’s just how I imagined it.”

 

//

 

Brittany’s bedroom overlooks the street because she once watched Alfred Hitchcock’s _Rear Window_ and it freaked her out. Santana takes her to it and keeps her head down, avoiding her reaction to it.

 

“I didn’t paint it yet because I didn’t know…”

 

Santana trails off as she lines Brittany’s bags up against the wall. She can feel Brittany’s warm eyes turn to her and, suddenly, buying a bed, a desk and a dresser just like the ones in Brittany’s old bedroom seem like too much. She hasn’t even made as much effort on her own room.

 

“Anyway…” she says softly. “When you’re ready, maybe we could go look for a couch and stuff? You need some curtains and everything…”

 

She gestures up to the windows and catches Brittany’s eye as she does. They’re dark and warm and Santana has to fight not to blush or run away. Brittany leans a hand against the wood of her new bed and shrugs her shoulders.

 

“Well, my classes don’t start for like… two months or something…” Brittany shrugs with a soft smile. “So there’s no hurry…”

 

Santana looks up and nods. She thinks that she can see something in Brittany’s eyes but it’s been so long that she’s not sure she knows what it is.

 

So she just agrees.

 

“No,” she nods. “No hurry.”

 

//

 

It takes her a few days to transfer the friendship they’ve shared over the phone into real life but, once she does, everything’s okay. She stops feeling awkward and starts to relax.

 

Brittany asks her to show her the city and, at first, Santana panics that she’s going to do it wrong. She stays up too late gathering together information about the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, she researches the Met to see if there’s anything that Brittany might want to see but, when she presents the information to Brittany the next morning, she just smiles and shakes her head.

 

“That’s not New York,” she tells Santana softly, still wearing her polka dot covered pajamas and bed head. “I’m not a tourist anymore… I want to see the real stuff.”

 

That should make Santana panic more but it doesn’t.

 

//

 

She makes them spend a morning getting lost on the Subway, telling Brittany which stop they need to get off at and letting her loose with a map. By the time they find their way to where they want to be, it’s lunchtime and they’re laughing so hard that they’re crying.

 

They find a deli with a line out the door and eat the best sandwiches they’ve ever had. There’s a store down the street from it that sells nothing but old records and unwanted DVDs and neither of them speak as they simultaneously decide to step inside. Santana spends an hour watching Brittany as she buys handfuls of movies they’ve never heard of while telling Santana to buy some records. Santana reminds her that they don’t have a record player but Brittany has an answer for everything so they spend the next four hours trailing the city looking for one.

 

On their way, they manage to find a coffee table (flirting their way to free delivery), some cool art, some photography books, a toaster, and remember to buy coffee cups.

 

But the best thing they find is the record player, old but in mint condition, at a thrift shop a few stops away from their apartment.

 

It’s the first and only thing in their living room and it’s completely useless, but they don’t care.

 

//

 

Santana goes back to work the Friday after Brittany arrives. She’s exhausted but she doesn’t care because she’s spent every day of the past week with Brittany, slowly filling up their apartment with everything they need.

 

She does feel bad leaving her alone, though. She keeps peering out at Brittany in their living room as she gets changed and wonders if she can avoid work another day. They haven’t needed her most of the week but she’s already missed out on one weekend of tips and she probably shouldn’t miss another.

 

It doesn’t make leaving Brittany any easier. Especially because Santana’s noticed how tense she’s gotten the closer it gets to Santana having to leave. Santana knows that Brittany thinks she hasn’t noticed her eyeballing the clock and every lock in the apartment every two minutes, but she has and it’s just making her feel worse.

 

“So where’s the bar again?” Brittany calls out to her.

 

She’s already asked seven times. Santana counted. “It’s in the East Village. The address is on the fridge.”

 

Brittany nods slowly and looks around, gulping. Lord Tubbington sits in her lap, uncomfortably being over-scratched behind the ears “What time do you work?”

 

Santana smiles because Brittany can’t see. “I’m working from nine until four today, but it changes. Depends how busy we are.”

 

She grabs her jacket and her bag and steps back out into the living room, searching for her keys. Brittany reaches over to the coffee table and grabs them before tossing them at her. Santana smiles in thanks before looking at her carefully.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” she asks.

 

Brittany nods quickly and gives her a wide smile.

 

“Of course,” she says as brightly as she can but she gives herself away in the way that she avoids Santana’s eyes and stares down into her lap.

 

Santana deliberately stalls and waits until the last possible moment before she leaves.

 

Brittany doesn’t say anything and Santana has to talk herself out of going back the whole way to the subway station.

 

She misses her train and has to take the next one.

 

//

 

Whenever there’s a slow moment at work, she texts Brittany.

 

Brittany continues her charade and tells Santana that she’s fine, that she’s putting together her furniture and unpacking the boxes of her belongings that arrived two days ago.

 

Santana doesn’t know how to tell her that those are not normal things to be doing at two o’clock in the morning.

 

When she gets home at six the next morning, she brings breakfast with her, fully expecting Brittany to be awake still.

 

She’s surprised when she’s wrong.

 

Brittany’s fast asleep on the couch with Lord Tubbington curled into the curve of her body. The TV is still on and the remote sits on the floor below where Brittany’s hand hangs off the edge of the couch.

 

A smile finds itself onto Santana’s face and she covers the pair of them with a blanket before heading off to bed.

 

From where she lays on her bed, she can see Brittany’s hand and foot and the slow rise and fall of her chest.

 

It lulls her to sleep quicker than normal.

 

//

 

After a few days, Santana still doesn’t feel good about leaving Brittany every night.

 

She changes the locks and gets extra bolts. She buys a TV so that there’s something to keep Brittany occupied but it doesn’t really work. Every night when she leaves, Brittany still awkwardly watches her leave with a reluctant smile on her face and, every morning when she comes back, Brittany’s either fast asleep on the couch or watching marathons of Spanish soap operas.

 

It really doesn’t take long for Santana to come up with a solution—at least one that doesn’t involve forcing Blaine to sleep over every night she’s at work—and on a Saturday morning, when she comes home to find Brittany’s eyes fighting to stay open, she puts it to use.

 

“Britt?” she asks quietly. Brittany turns to look where Santana rests against the back of the couch and blinks at her in response. Santana sighs. “Do you want to come to the bar with me tonight?” she asks. Brittany frowns and Santana shrugs. “I just… I hate leaving you here and, you know, I think you might like it…”

 

Brittany sighs and raises her arms above her head. She blinks slowly and looks at Santana for a while before shaking her head. “I don’t really have the money to go to a bar, ya know? I mean… I have to buy college books soon and I have to use my savings until school starts and—”

 

“That’s what I meant,” Santana interrupts. “One of the girls at work had to go to Texas for the summer because of some family thing and we’re one short for the later shifts on weekends. I told my boss that you were a dancer and she said to bring you in for an audition.”

 

Brittany’s eyes narrow and brighten at the same time.

 

“What’s dancing got to do with working at a bar?” she asks and Santana blushes.

 

“Well,” she starts. “It’s Coyote Ugly, Britt. You’ve seen that movie, right?” Brittany nods, even as something changes in her expression, something that looks wicked and intrigued. She sits up slowly as Santana says her next words. “We dance and sing on the bar, Britt.”

 

A smirk finds its way onto Brittany’s face and Santana finds herself mirroring it before she can stop herself. Brittany sits up a little further and quirks an eyebrow in Santana’s direction.

 

“You dance on the bar?” she repeats. “How did you fail to mention that?” Santana shrugs and just waits for Brittany’s answer. When Brittany looks away and bites her lip, Santana knows what it’s going to be. It’s verified when blue eyes snap back to hers and messy blond hair begins bouncing as Brittany nods. “Sure. I’ll do it.”

 

//

 

She takes Brittany with her the next night and just walking out the front door with her makes Santana feel better.

 

Brittany’s practically buzzing the whole way on the subway, constantly asking Santana if she looks okay before bouncing her leg nervously.

 

When they get to the bar, Santana keeps Brittany close to her. The bouncers greet Santana and eye Brittany curiously. Everyone eyes Brittany until they get to the bar and Santana guides Brittany behind it.

 

Her boss does a double take when she sees Brittany but Santana doesn’t comment on it. She stands beside Brittany and lets her speak for herself when her boss starts asking her tons of questions. For some, Brittany looks to her for guidance but she just smiles in reassurance.

 

She doesn’t speak until Brittany tries to play down her dancing talents.

 

“She’s the best I’ve ever seen,” she says, ending the conversation and Brittany just blushes as her boss nods.

 

“Well then,” she says, nodding at Brittany. “Let’s see it.”

 

The smirk on Brittany’s face as she climbs onto the bar is one of the best things Santana’s seen in a long time.

 

//

 

Brittany’s a hit.

 

Santana doesn’t sing once her first night but she and the rest of the girls get up on the bar and dance with Brittany a few times. The rest of the time, Brittany works the crowd, lets them get to know her and doesn’t stop until she’s dragged down.

 

“You’re awesome,” Santana tells her after she’s been dancing for two hours straight.

 

She forces a bottle of water into Brittany’s hands and urges her to drink it.

 

“This is fun,” she pants breathlessly and Santana nods, pushing hair away from Brittany’s face as she attempts to get her breath back. She downs the entirety of the bottle but there’s a grin on her face after. She tosses the bottle and grabs both of Santana’s hands, pulling her back out into the bar.

 

“Come dance with me,” she chuckles and Santana can’t refuse.

 

//

 

Brittany’s still panting for her breath at four o’clock that morning, laid out on the bar as the rest of them collect the empty bottles and shot glasses that litter the room.

 

“You’re a natural, Brittany,” her boss tells her when they’re done. Santana watches as she pushes a wad of cash into Brittany’s hands. Her eyes grow wide and their boss taps her on the arm, winking at her proudly. “You earned that. Same time tomorrow night?”

 

Brittany looks down at the money and then shyly over at Santana. Santana just looks at her with a smile that only grows when their eyes meet and Brittany nods.

 

“Same time tomorrow,” she agrees and Santana already can’t wait.

 

//

 

Santana takes her for a celebratory breakfast.

 

Brittany looks exhausted and practically inhales her first plate of French toast before almost falling asleep in her second. She holds her money in her hands and smiles at Santana across the table.

 

“I never knew there was so much cash in dancing on bars,” she comments around a laugh.

 

Santana snorts and nods because she didn’t either. “I know that it’s not exactly a job that you can make your mother proud with but…” she shrugs and pauses. “It’s fun, right?”

 

Brittany takes a bite of her breakfast and looks at Santana with soft, curious eyes. Santana feels safe and completely disarmed at once.

 

“We’re in the biggest city in the world and we’re working and we’re paying our own bills all on our own,” Brittany reminds her softly. “We’re doing that and we found our own way. Even if I’m not making my mother proud,” she shrugs. “it doesn’t matter because I’m proud of myself.”

 

Santana finds herself smiling and remembering how much she missed Brittany all at once. She forgot how smart she was and she doesn’t know how because it’s the only reason she’s here.

 

“You’re right,” she laughs.

 

Brittany grins. “Duh.”

 

//

 

Breakfast after work becomes a new tradition.

 

Brittany only works three nights a week while Santana works five but on Saturday, Sunday and Monday mornings, they get off the subway around the corner from their apartment and head to the diner across the street for breakfast.

 

Some people look at them like they’re crazy but they don’t care. They sit there for two hours, until they’re too tired to stay, and talk about everything and nothing like they used to. Sure, it’s different. They haven’t been _just friends_ in so long—and it’s not the same as it used to be back then—but Santana likes hearing Brittany’s jokes first thing in the morning. She likes watching Brittany fall asleep on her hand after eating too many slices of French toast and bacon. She likes helping her complete the crossword in yesterday’s paper.

 

She likes this new normal that they’re slowly finding and hates that in just a few short weeks, everything will change again.

 

//

 

Every Tuesday night, Rachel, Kurt and Blaine come over to their apartment to watch movies.

 

Santana’s not sure why it is that they come here rather than they go over to their place. It’s probably got something to do with Brittany and the fact that she can’t stand Rachel’s collection of musicals. There’s only so many times a person can watch _Funny Girl_ without wanting to kill something.

 

But they watch movies and eat pizza and, sometimes, Santana will pick them up some beer. They bitch about random stuff and a lot of the time they let Rachel relieve herself of whatever Hudson-related issues she has this week. Everything’s routine down to the seats they sit in and the toppings they have on their pizza.

 

Santana kind of hates how one little comment can ruin something that she was actually starting to enjoy.

 

//

 

It happens one Tuesday in the middle of August.

 

Rachel, Kurt and Blaine are on one of the couches and Santana and Brittany share the other. The pizza is on its way and they’ve already picked what movies they’re going to watch once it arrives. It’s one of the rare days that they’ve got beer and Santana closes her eyes as she sips on her beer.

 

It’s been warm—too warm—and both she and Brittany have been working extra hours at the bar. They’ve barely been sleeping and Brittany’s started to get a jump on her college reading. If they’re honest, neither of them really want to be doing this tonight but it’s almost a tradition and they can’t break it.

 

When the pizza arrives and they put the movie on, it just gets worse. There’s no hunger to keep Santana awake and Kurt always insists that they turn the light off for optimum viewing. Santana looks beside her and finds Brittany fighting her own eyelids. She turns and pokes her with her foot before starting to stretch out her body.

 

Brittany gets the idea, and puts her book on the table beside her chair before copying Santana’s actions. Her feet land in front of Santana and Santana takes one of the pillows from behind her, placing it against them before laying her head atop Brittany’s feet.  Brittany smiles at her and Santana watches as Brittany reaches a hand behind her to grab Santana’s knee and hold herself closer.

 

They fall asleep a few minutes later and Santana doesn’t think anything of it until she’s carrying everything out to the kitchen once the movie is over. Kurt follows after her and the minute she sees his face something drops into her stomach.

 

“What?” she says as Kurt begins to wash their dirty glasses.

 

Kurt shakes his head without a word so Santana carries on, putting the leftover food into containers. She thinks that’s it but then Kurt sighs and shifts to lean against the counter as she moves around the kitchen.

 

“So… how’s it living with Britt?” he asks quietly. Santana doesn’t know why. Brittany, Rachel and Blaine are all asleep on the couch.

 

“Fine,” she says wearily.

 

Kurt nods and folds his arms before pressing a finger to his chin. He looks at her with that look he gets, the one that tells Santana she knows whatever he says next she probably won’t like. It’s one of the few things she doesn’t miss about living with him.

 

He waggles his finger towards the living room and eyes her. “So, you and Brittany…”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re what, exactly?”

 

Santana stops and looks at him with narrow eyes. “Friends,” she says slowly. “Roommates. Why?”

 

Kurt shrugs. “You looked pretty… snuggly out there.”

 

Santana studies him for a minute, wondering if he’s serious or not, before scoffing and shaking her head.

 

“We’re tired,” she says even as she feels a weird heat rising in her cheeks that feels nothing like shame or guilt or embarrassment. “You would be too if you did our work.”

 

“If I did your work, I’d look hotter doing it,” Kurt comments quickly. “But that’s really not the point. I’m worried about you. Brittany’s living here and you’re getting closer again. You’re telling yourself that you’re friends but do you _really_ believe that?”

 

Santana stops what she’s doing and holds her hands up in frustration. “Listen,” she tells him. “We’re friends. That’s it. That’s all. Friends. Just because you’re jumping on the dick of any male who befriends you doesn’t mean we’re all like that okay. Brittany’s my best friend and she always has been.”

 

Kurt ignores most of what she says as graciously as ever. “Exactly,” he says, his voice raising in warning. “You have always been best friends and then you were together but how do you know what the difference is?”

 

“Easy!” Santana hisses. “The difference is that she has a boyfriend and we’re not fucking each other. That’s how I know.”

 

Kurt looks at her like she’s hopeless. He studies her slowly and it makes her want to slap him so she looks away and carries on tidying her kitchen.

 

“Have you told her about the Quinn thing?” he asks.

 

Santana stops and her blood runs cold at the words. She feels her defenses go up and she swallows before speaking.

 

“What does that matter?” she asks lowly. She feels breathless.

 

Kurt just rolls his eyes and sighs. “It matters because it’s the kind of thing that you tell your best friend.”

 

Santana scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s the kind of thing you don’t tell _anyone_ ,” she corrects quietly. “ _You_ only know because you were dumb enough to walk in on my walk of shame.”

 

Kurt looks at her with a grimace and shakes his head. “So you let people see you like that in public normally?” he asks. “The whole messy hair, sweaty and reeking of sex thing... that’s a look for you?”

 

“Did I pull it off?” Santana asks smugly.

 

Kurt looks her up and down before shrugging. “Kinda.”

 

Santana smirks. “Well, there you go,” she says before pausing and shaking her head. She looks away from Kurt and her face falls. “I’m not telling Brittany about me and Quinn. It was a dumb mistake and it shouldn’t have happened.”

 

When Kurt doesn’t instantly reply, it makes Santana nervous. She stands still at her place by the sink and washes the same plate over and over again until she feels him move closer to her. He puts them hip-to-hip, her front and his back resting against the counter as he turns to her and studies her quietly.

 

“Well, think about this,” he says softly. “Just because you haven’t told anyone, doesn’t mean that Quinn hasn’t. What if she tells someone and they tell Brittany?” Santana looks down at her hands. “Worse, what if Quinn tells Brittany because she thinks it’s something you’ve told her. You’re friends after all, right?” Kurt pauses just long enough to get Santana’s brain buzzing “What then?”

 

Santana has no response, just the buzzing of a million thoughts around her head. What does it mean that she doesn’t want Brittany to know about her and Quinn? What would it mean if Brittany found out and it upset her? She doesn’t want to ponder that any more than she wants to tell Brittany.

 

The shake of her head she gives is almost unnoticeable but Kurt still catches it.

 

He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

 

“I’m just saying,” he whispers. “I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

 

Santana nods, if only so it will shut him up. She’s still thinking about it, an hour later, when they’ve left and Brittany’s taken herself to bed.

 

She falls asleep thinking about it and wakes up thinking about it.

 

She doesn’t stop thinking about it… and that’s the problem.

 

//

 

There are more than a few times when she actually considers telling Brittany about Quinn.

 

Most of them are when Kurt, Rachel and Blaine come over for movie night but a lot of them aren’t.

 

She almost told her when they were at work before it was open one day. Brittany was giving one of the girls advice about her best friend, telling her that she and Santana have no secrets from each other, and Santana had to walk out in order not to just blurt out the truth.

 

One time she almost told her in the form of an apology. Brittany asked her if she knew how Quinn was and Santana thought she knew so the apology was right there and ready. That was until Brittany mentioned that she hadn’t spoke to her since the wedding, and then way before that and Santana just shook her head that she hadn’t really either. She was glad that she had to go to work shortly after.

 

A lot of the times, it’s been because she’s been laid in her bed for hours, trying to sleep but unable to because she can’t stop thinking about the secret inside of her. It gets to the point where she’s so tired that she convinces herself that she’ll be able to sleep if she just crosses the hall and tells Brittany.

 

She doesn’t because she used to do the same thing before everyone found out she was gay. The weight of the information was so heavy some nights that it almost hurt to harbor it. Everyone finding out might have softened that hurt but it taught Santana how volatile people can be. Telling people secrets are like chemical reactions: sometimes it makes something new but most of the time it just makes an explosion and ruins everything.

 

That’s why she decides to go without sleep for a little while longer.

 

//

 

She doesn’t mean to tell her when she does.

 

After, when she looks back, she thinks that she could have perhaps picked a better moment, a better time, but it’s too late by then.

 

She’s already told her and everything’s already weird again.

 

//

 

Their boss holds Brittany a “You’re Going To College” party on the Saturday before Brittany starts her college orientation week.

 

Brittany and Santana take the afternoon shift for once and while they leave to get changed and meet Rachel, Kurt and Blaine, the rest of the girls put up banners and balloons. They get served booze even though everyone knows they’re not old enough and they don’t even have to pay for it. As per usual, Drunk-Brittany allows for Stripper-Brittany and she ends up on the bar in her underwear like any other night anyway.

 

The five of them leave when the bar closes at 4am and forgo breakfast in favor of returning to their apartment to drink the rest of the whiskey their boss slipped them on the way out.

 

Brittany and Rachel are ridiculously drunk. Kurt and Blaine have already drunkenly made out four times, and spent the whole subway ride being handsy, while Rachel sung a drunk version of _It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay_.

 

Santana keeps cracking up, only drunk enough to be happy rather than emotional. She leads the four of them to their apartment because it’s closer and barely argues when Blaine and Kurt wrestle their way into her bedroom while Rachel runs to their bathroom.

 

Santana watches as Brittany falls to the floor in the middle of their kitchen and kicks off her boots. Her face is relaxed and all her clothes are crooked from their constant removal. She takes off her top as she wordlessly lies down the cold floor tiles. A sigh of relief leaves her mouth and Santana smiles a little wider because it’s not the first time she’s seen Brittany do this. In this heat, the tiles are the coldest part of the apartment.

 

Without a word, she lays down to copy her. Her feet sit by Brittany’s shoulders and she releases a low groan at the feel of the cold on her back.

 

“I can’t believe I’m starting college tomorrow,” Brittany mumbles. Her words slur a little but Santana can tell that she’s slipping into sobriety.

 

Santana’s head rolls to the side to look down Brittany’s body and find her face. Her hands are pressed to her forehead and her eyes are narrow with exhaustion. She keeps looking at her until she thinks of what to say. It takes a while.

 

“I can,” she says simply. “You need to share that genius with the world.”

 

Brittany barely gives a reaction other than the soft smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. It falters a second later when a darker expression replaces it on Brittany’s face. It’s serious, too serious, and Santana’s not sure if she likes it.

 

“I never…” Brittany starts and it’s quiet. “Even back in like… Freshman year, I never… If I’m honest, the thought of leaving Lima used to terrify me but then… I never realized that staying would mean I’d end up alone, you know?” Santana doesn’t reply she just listens. “It wasn’t until, you were gone and Kurt was gone and Rachel was gone… Quinn and Mike and Mercedes…” She laughs a little. “And then I came back and Artie was making his plans and everybody else was too… and I realized that I was just being dumb, you know? If I didn’t… _do_ something then I really would be left behind and the only person I could blame would be myself.”

 

The words strike a chord with Santana. She repeats them in her brain and soaks in their meaning. She hears the sad relief and the the almost—maybe—apology for what happened between them when they broke up. There’s almost a hint of Brittany blaming herself and it shocks Santana because she doesn’t want her to ever feel like that’s true. There’s never just one person to blame, never one action. Not between them. She doesn’t blame Brittany so she definitely doesn’t want her to blame herself. They’ve both done stupid things.

 

Santana feels the words in her throat before she can stop them, before she can even think them. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing.

 

“Britt, I slept with Quinn,” she whispers hurriedly, regretting the words before they’ve even left her mouth because she was right.

 

The relief is worth nothing when she sees the hurt and then the confusion on Brittany’s face.

 

“What?” Brittany asks and the expression on her face is emotionless, stunned.

 

Santana swallows and sits up to look down at her. She shrugs her shoulders and laughs awkwardly.

 

“At Mr. Schue’s wedding…” she starts. “I was… angry and lonely and, I don’t know, Britt. She practically threw herself at me and I let her.” Brittany stares and Santana shrugs, trying to get the words out as quickly as possible. “I think I just wanted to… spite you, or something, you know? I don’t know.” She shakes her head because she’s not so sure of that truth. “I was still mad at you for Sam and I was mad because nothing was working out in New York yet and I don’t know… I don’t know.”

 

Her eyes find Brittany’s knees and stare at them as she shakes her head. Brittany doesn’t speak, doesn’t move for long, long moments, until she does and it makes Santana jump a little. She sits up until their faces are level, their noses almost touching. It’s almost overwhelming and the expression on Brittany’s face makes her feel like the worst person in the world.

 

She still looks confused, still looks hurt, but there are other things there too.

 

They’re things that Santana doesn’t want to think about.

 

Brittany’s cheeks flush and she laughs breathlessly as she gets up.

 

“I don’t…” she mutters and then shakes her head. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” she admits as she shuffles on the spot.

 

Santana opens her mouth to speak but Brittany shakes her head.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “I think I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

 

She leaves before Santana can get up and stop her. Her bedroom door slams a little too loudly and Santana drops back onto the floor, covering her face with her hands as she tries to think clearly.

 

She’s still laid like that four hours later when Kurt finds her.

 

“I told her,” she tells him quietly.

 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods and leaves her alone.

 

//

 

Santana spends most of Sunday sleeping and Brittany’s bedroom door is closed when she wakes up.

 

She goes to work and doesn’t text Brittany for fear of upsetting her any more than she already might have done. She spends all night preparing herself for the morning but when she gets home, Brittany’s already left. Her books and her backpack are gone.

 

Santana scratches her head and retrieves the good luck card from her bedroom, along with the NYU pennant and t-shirt she got her especially. She leaves them on the coffee table and heads to bed, not expecting to see Brittany when she gets up.

 

Sure enough, Brittany’s gone when she wakes up and Santana can do nothing but embrace what she knew was always going to happen.

 

//

 

She doesn’t see Brittany until the next afternoon.

 

The front door clicks to alert her arrival and Santana does nothing but lift her head to watch her come in. Her face is mostly expressionless but she offers Santana a smile that makes her sigh in relief.

 

She swallows and speaks. “How was school?”

 

Brittany looks up from her place on the couch, unloading all her books and all the extra stuff her teachers have surely given her.

 

“Good,” she says noncommittally. “It’s all just like… admin stuff and a ton of people talking to us but I’m still really tired.”

 

“Sure,” Santana nods and watches as Brittany heads for the kitchen. She opens their fridge and the pantry before pressing a hand to her stomach.

 

Santana shifts to see her face more clearly. She looks disappointed. “Hungry?”

 

Brittany looks shocked by the question and pauses before nodding. “I didn’t have breakfast and there wasn’t time to get lunch.”

 

Santana’s reaching for the phone before she can stop herself. “Pizza or Chinese?” she asks and Brittany’s half-smile makes her feel settled.

 

Still, Brittany eats quickly and excuses herself to her bedroom early. Santana doesn’t argue but heads out to the grocery store anyway.

 

She comes back with tons of snacks that Brittany likes and hides some in her backpack.

 

If she can’t do anything else, at least she can do that.

 

//

 

As orientation week descends into the first week of classes, Brittany spends more time in her bedroom and Santana spends all her time wondering if it’s because of her or because of school.

 

She checks Brittany’s backpack every night before work and finds the empty pop tart and granola bar wrappers stuffed into the pockets. Half eaten boxes of _Dots_ sit tucked between books on photographic history and critical studies and it makes Santana smile more than anything else.

 

Every night, she takes out the empty wrappers and replaces them with new ones. She moves Brittany’s bag so that it sits on the kitchen counter and puts Brittany’s new lunch box beside it with a post it on the front telling her that her sandwiches are in the fridge with a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water.

 

Brittany’s always left for school by the time that Santana gets in from work, but the food is always gone and that makes Santana feel better.

 

//

 

Whenever Brittany decides to not be in her room, Santana tries to talk to her about school stuff and how she’s doing. Brittany doesn’t really say much and it kind of makes Santana feel weird that she doesn’t know which classes are Brittany’s favorites.

 

(Back at McKinley, it was always History, Art, or her Journalism class that were her favorite. She liked Spanish too, because she was good at it, and hated Geography and Math.)

 

All she knows now is that she has really long days on Thursdays, that she’s home by noon on Tuesdays and that the sandwiches she makes are always eaten.

 

Sometimes she hears Brittany talking on the phone and she can’t handle it. She wonders who it is that she’s talking to, if it’s her parents or if it’s Sam, and hates the thought that people she speaks to once or twice a week know more than she does.

 

She never tries to overhear. That would be cheating. She always puts on her headphones and falls asleep listening to new songs she’ll sing at the bar.

 

//

 

By the end of September, things are still weird but Brittany’s talking more. She’ll come out of her room to eat dinner at their tiny kitchen table and sometimes she’ll wait until Santana goes to work before she goes back to her room.

 

She stops excusing herself from movie nights with Rachel, Kurt and Blaine but sits with Blaine and doesn’t say much. She’s usually asleep before the movie’s even halfway through too and it makes Santana worry. She can see the black bags under Brittany’s eyes and hear her tossing and turning at night when she gets home earlier from work. The pile of books in her bag gets bigger and bigger, and she comes home a little bit later and later from school each day.

 

Santana never mentions it. She just lets Brittany do what she needs to in order to feel okay.

 

It’s not until Santana comes home from work one morning and Brittany’s sprawled out on the couch, asleep in her NYU t-shirt and underwear, that she figures something’s up. The TV is still on and there are noticeable dry tear tracks down Brittany’s cheeks. There’s a mountain of books surrounding her, no blanket covering her, and she’s shivering a little from the oncoming chill of Fall. Tubbs is asleep on her feet and Santana gives him a look before he jumps off and heads to Brittany’s room to wait for her.

 

Santana leans down at Brittany’s side and brushes messy blond curls from her face without thinking. She tries to ignore the way that Brittany lets out a happy hum when she does, stretching to get closer to the touch. She whispers her name softly until blue eyes flutter open and focus on her.

 

She sees something in them that makes her return her fingers to Brittany’s face, pushing the hair over her ear over and over again even though she doesn’t need to. Brittany just stares at her and she smiles gently, hoping it will help.

 

“You okay?” she asks in a whisper.

 

Brittany looks at her and nods. Her eyes flicker across Santana’s face and Santana lets them quietly. Brittany’s the only person who doesn’t make her feel like she’s being judged and scrutinized when she looks at her. Instead, she makes her feel safe, protected, cared for.

 

It doesn’t make things any easier. Santana busies herself fussing over Brittany like a mother would. She tugs at the short sleeves of her t-shirt like it might make them long enough to cover the length of her arms before feeling her forehead with the back of her hands to make sure she doesn’t have a fever. Brittany just lets her and keeps still. Her face is expressionless and that’s what makes it hard because Santana just wants to know how she feels.

 

“Do you want to go to bed?” she asks softly. “I think Tubbs is waiting for you. He seemed kind of mad when I got in.”

 

A twitch of a smile finds the corner of Brittany’s mouth. “He’s mad at me. He thinks I don’t have time for him anymore since I started school.”

 

Santana gets comfier and smiles, resting her hand on Brittany’s shoulder and keeping her eyes on her face. She’s too aware of the long pale legs that extend behind her, too desperate to see if they’re just as cold as Brittany’s arms.

 

“Well, it’s Saturday tomorrow,” Santana says. “Why don’t you take a day off and snuggle with him in bed? You can watch movies and get some rest.”

 

Brittany’s face falls and Santana wants to ask what that thing is, there, behind Brittany’s expression, deep in her eyes and darkened by panic. She doesn’t because she would rather Brittany rest and rid herself of the dark bags, the heavy limbs, and the pale and clammy skin.

 

“I have school work…” Brittany tries but Santana shakes her head.

 

She takes Brittany’s hand and pulls her up until she’s standing. She doesn’t speak as she guides Brittany to her bedroom and into her bed, just pulls the curtains closed against the rising sun and tucks the blankets around Brittany’s body. Blue eyes look relieved behind their panic.

 

“You can do school work on Sunday,” Santana tells her, kneeling beside her bed.

 

She receives no argument. Santana doesn’t think Brittany has enough energy to because, as Santana presses a warm hand comfortingly to her shoulder, she’s already falling asleep.

 

//

 

Things get a little better after that. Brittany spends the next day watching movies with Tubbs while Santana sleeps and, when she gets up, Brittany’s already ordered Santana’s favorite Chinese.

 

She invites Santana to watch a movie with her and Santana’s almost late for work she enjoys herself so much.

 

When she gets back, Brittany’s in her bedroom with her door open but the covers are falling off of her. Santana steps in and sees the books that surround Brittany on the bed. She smiles and takes them off, saving Brittany’s pages and putting them on her desk. She tucks Brittany in and turns off her light, whispering a goodnight that Brittany doesn’t hear.

 

When she wakes up, there’s a note on the fridge telling her that Brittany’s gone out but she’ll get dinner for them on her way back. Santana smiles and doesn’t have to wait long because, an hour or so later, Brittany returns with her camera bags over her shoulder and a pizza box held high over her head.

 

Santana smiles as Brittany puts it down onto the coffee table and turns on the TV before grabbing her book. She flops down onto the couch and, with anyone else, Santana would bitch about how she’s left her shoes in the middle of the room but it’s so endearing she can’t.

 

She shakes her head with a smile and disappears into her bedroom.

 

By the time she comes out to leave for work, Brittany’s fast asleep on the couch again.

 

Santana doesn’t wake her or try to move her. She just grabs a blanket and covers Brittany with it before putting on a movie.

 

Brittany’s still there when she gets home from work so Santana quietly moves around the kitchen to make her breakfast.

 

She wakes up to the smell of bacon and eggs and, when Santana shyly hands over her lunchbox, Brittany doesn’t even bat an eyelid. She just thanks her and puts it in her bag before swinging out the door.

 

There’s something about the action that makes Santana’s heart skip a beat.

 

//

 

By the end of the month, things are okay. They’re not as good as they were before but they’re okay. They talk every day and Santana knows that Brittany’s analog photography class is her favorite.

 

Every night, her and Brittany make dinner and eat together before Santana goes to work. She still makes Brittany’s lunch every day and puts her to bed more nights than not. Every morning she puts on a pot of coffee for Brittany before she goes to bed and gets out the Lucky Charms and a bowl so Brittany won’t forget to eat breakfast.

 

They talk and they have a routine and it works but there’s still something awkwardly lingering over them.

 

There’s a million things left unsaid, still too much being worried about, but Santana’s so scared that she’ll ruin things further that she refuses to mention them.

 

It’s not until Brittany’s first real cold night in New York that anything happens.

 

It’s not just cold. The weatherman said there was a possibility of the city being caught on the edges of a tropical storm and, sure enough, the rain floods the sidewalks with muddy water and the wind howls through any gap it can find.

 

Even though Brittany’s usually home by noon on Tuesdays, she comes home early because the subways are starting to flood. She looks shaken by what’s going on and Santana doesn’t ask her if she wants to go to the market like she’d planned to and goes by herself. Brittany looks nervous as she leaves, just like she did the first time Santana left her alone in the apartment, and still hasn’t taken her coat off by the time Santana returns with supplies.

 

Santana doesn’t comment on any of it, just closes the curtains and turns on the TV hoping that it might provide Brittany with a distraction.

 

It works, but just barely… and only until it’s time to go to bed.

 

Because as soon as Santana says that she’s tired, Brittany looks like she doesn’t know what she wants to do. The wind is still howling and there’s lightning that’s bright enough to light their living room through the curtains. The wind beats against the windows and Santana tries to make it look like she’s tidying the living room when really she’s just waiting for Brittany.

 

It takes a while but eventually Brittany goes to her room. The loud noise of her TV adds to the mix a few moments later and Santana finally heads to her own room.

 

She thinks it must be around midnight when there’s a knock on her bedroom door. She ignores it at first, thinking it’s the storm, but can’t when it’s joined by the whisper of her name.

 

She turns around and narrows her eyes through the darkness, always able to make out blue eyes, blond hair and the shape of a familiar face and body. “Britt?”

 

“Hi…”

 

Santana pauses at the quiet response and reaches for the lamp beside her bed. She clicks it on and turns over to find Brittany lingering at the other side of her bed, fingers playing with the ends of her blankets.

 

“What’s wrong?” Santana asks, even though she’s sure she knows.

 

Brittany doesn’t look her in the eye and her cheeks flush as she speaks. “Um, can I stay in here with you?” she asks quietly. Santana just stares at her and lets her go on. “The storm is still really, really loud in my room, even with the TV, and there’s like police cars and the fire department driving past every few minutes.” She pauses and clears her throat. “And I was just wondering if I can sleep in here.”

 

Santana doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and just pushes back her blankets so that Brittany can climb in. The relief on Brittany’s face is clear and she climbs in quickly, shuffling under the covers as Santana turns off the lamp.

 

“Goodnight,” Santana whispers.

 

Brittany stops moving beside her and sighs. “Goodnight.”

 

//

 

An hour later, Santana’s still awake. She’s too aware of how tense Brittany is beside her and can feel her jumping every time that the thunder cracks and the lightning strikes. It’s starting to worry her and she rolls onto her back to glance beside her.

 

“Britt?”

 

“Yeah?” The response is too quick for her to have been asleep.

 

Santana clears her throat and sighs. “Britt, what’s wrong? It’s late.”

 

A breathy laugh sounds from beside her and Santana stops to listen completely.

 

“I’m just scared, is all…” she whispers.

 

Santana’s face softens and she studies Brittany quietly for a second. Her hands toy with the sheet beneath her hand, scrunching it in her fist as she fights against the urge to reach out and touch what she shouldn’t.

 

“You’re fine here,” she tells her rather than saying what she wants to say. “This building is really old and strong and it’s only passing through. It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

 

Brittany nods and pulls the covers up around her shoulders. She still looks worried, her blue eyes flickering around the room until they finally find Santana. Her cheeks flush instantly and she looks away.

 

“Sorry,” she sighs.

 

Santana shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she whispers. Her hand shifts across the bed. “Why don’t we just talk until you forget about the storm?”

 

Brittany nods. “Sure.”

 

//

 

Santana doesn’t know if it’s the fact that she’s tired or because Brittany’s vulnerable but she somehow manages to ask the one thing that’s been bothering her.

 

They’ve been sat in silence for a while and it feels like there’s nothing left to talk about except the things they don’t want to. Brittany lies beside her, staring up at the stars on her ceiling, a still-nervous expression crosses her face as she does.

 

Santana watches her quietly. Her hand tucks under her chin as she swallows before speaking.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Quinn sooner,” she whispers and there’s a part of her that wishes Brittany doesn’t hear except the way that her face tenses and her eyes flicker to the other side of the room tells Santana that she did. She swallows down panic. “I’m sorry that it upset you the way that it did.”

 

Even through the half-dark, Santana can still see the blush on Brittany’s cheeks. She shakes her head at the words and shrugs her shoulders, lets out a nervous laugh before stopping completely and letting herself relax.

 

Santana goes on. “Why _did_ it upset you, Britt?”

 

With a tense jaw, Brittany shrugs her shoulders again and keeps looking away.

 

“It just felt weird was all,” she finally says. Her voice is quiet and timid and a little sweet. “It’s Quinn. She’s not who I thought you would be sleeping with when I told you to come to New York, you know?” Brittany shakes her head. “You didn’t meet her in some bar in Tribeca. She’s not…” She cuts off and shakes her head. “I wanted you to come here and be with people like _you,_ Santana. I wanted you to be with someone who you could be yourself with.” Blue eyes turn to her and the gaze burns a little. “I know—I know that it sounds bad, and I love Quinn, but she doesn’t treat people how she should sometimes. She uses people and I don’t ever want you to be used by anyone.”

 

The words make something in Santana’s chest throb uncontrollably. She looks at Brittany and doesn’t understand how she feels so breathless when she’s lying down. Brittany stares back at her so softly and earnestly that she has to look away.

 

A hand reaches over and covers hers on the covers. “I’m sorry I’ve been so weird,” she says softly. “I just… You’re my best friend. I want you to be happy and I thought that you might think I was jealous if I told you the truth.”

 

The urge to ask is uncontrollable. She gives into it easily. “Were you?”

 

Brittany gives her a look, a mix between a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. There’s an awkward twitch in her expression and her cheeks flush with pink.

 

“It was just weird,” she says and it’s not really an answer but Santana ignores that. She just concentrates on the pause that Brittany takes after and the strange expression on her face. “I was just getting used to being your best friend and then you told me that and I just… I remembered who I used to be… who _we_ used to be. It was hard to negotiate the two. It felt like…” She shakes her head to quickly cut herself off. “I don’t know what it felt like. It just felt weird.”

 

Santana listens and, despite being as exhausted as she is, she kind of gets what Brittany’s saying. It’s hard to separate what you were and what you are, to know when one begins and the other ends. Everything between them always started and ended so quickly that it was hard to know the boundaries of what they were. They’ve never been just one thing, always best friends _and_ lovers for longer than they were anything else. She’s suddenly hit with a rush of nostalgia and a yearning for the best friend she met all those years ago before feelings interrupted them. She misses their old Friday sleepovers.

 

She opens her mouth to speak but a loud crack echoes through the room, making Brittany jump. She flounders into Santana’s body, burying her face in her shoulder, and Santana smiles, wrapping her arms around her and laughing a little.

 

“C’mon,” she says and urges Brittany back over onto her side before scooting her body in behind her. She wraps her arms around Brittany’s waist and rests her head on the same pillow. “Better?” she asks as the body in front of her curls and relaxes further into the covers. The way it moves feels like a sigh sounds.

 

Brittany nods slowly. “Just like old times,” she breathes.

 

Santana lets herself feel Brittany’s body relax into her arms, softening as she relaxes and the sudden need to sleep takes over. Her nose brushes against Brittany’s hair and she swallows thickly for no reason whatsoever.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Just like old times.”

 

//

 

When they wake, the sun is shining and Santana remembers where she is a second before she makes a fool of herself.

 

Her arms are still wrapped around Brittany’s waist and Brittany’s fingers are wrapped around her wrist, thumb against her pulse. It feels comfortable, warm, and she lays there for too long before getting up.

 

She feels just as comfortable and warm when Brittany bounces out the bedroom a little while later and helps her make a late breakfast.

 

They stay at home watching movies together on the couch and there’s no weirdness anymore.

 

All that remains is the same comfort that Santana’s felt since the moment they met, the same comfort that reminds her who she is.

 

//

 

The days that follow don’t feel as awkward as the ones that have passed.

 

Santana feels like the storm came and washed away all the bad stuff between her and Brittany because things finally feel how they should. Brittany’s hardly ever in her room and they talk more, just like they used to. On Sunday mornings, Brittany meets her at the Subway station after work and they go for breakfast together like they used to. Some nights, Brittany even comes to the bar and spends the night dancing on it just because.

 

Some things stay the same, though. She still ends up putting Brittany to bed when she gets home from work and she still makes her lunch every night before she leaves for work. They still make dinner together every single night, do their laundry together at the laundromat across the street every Monday afternoon, and forget whose turn it is to buy toilet paper.

 

The amount of photographs Brittany has of them being total idiots across the city is ridiculous. They cover their apartment in mismatched frames, dotted between pictures of their friends and family, and Santana loves it because it makes her feel more at home.

 

It just feels better and even though Kurt still looks at her wearily, like he can see things that she can’t, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

//

 

She meets Kurt for lunch on a Tuesday in October while Brittany’s at the library.

 

They order and get their drinks, sitting there in comfortable silence until Kurt toys with the collar of his shirt before looking at her curiously.

 

“You look happy,” he comments.

 

Santana looks up and him and narrows her eyes. “Am I not supposed to?”

 

He shakes his head and sips his iced tea quietly for a moment before—

 

“It’s just that I thought things were rough with you and Britt,” he says and shakes his head. “Is that all good now?”

 

The expression on his face tells Santana that there are too many things that he wants to say, that he already knows more than he’s probably letting on. She sighs and puts down her drink. He must guess that she knows because his expression changes and he leans back a little to get away from whatever pain she has for him.

 

“Just say what you need to say, Hummel,” she sighs, her mouth pursing together. “I don’t have time for this.”

 

Kurt leans back in until he’s close enough to whisper. His hands clutch at either side of the table and his eyes are wide and worried.

 

“I’m worried about you, okay?” he says. “I’m scared that you’re getting yourself back into an old rhythm.”

 

Her face screws up in confusion. “Rhythm? What rhythm?”

 

Kurt looks at her like she’s hopeless. His elbows rest on the table and he locks his fingers together before resting his chin on his fist. “The rhythm of you and Britt,” he tells her. “You get close, you start sleeping together, you’re fine for a while and then something happens that forces you apart and then you repeat. If you think nobody noticed then you’re a dumbass.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santana says, putting her napkin on her lap. “Britt and I are just friends. We’re good right now and nothing like that is happening. Nothing like that even _looks_ like it’s going to happen and I’d stop it if it did.”

 

Kurt narrows his eyes. Santana has to look away because the expression on his face is so full of understanding that it’s almost like looking in a mirror.

 

“Do you even know what it _looks_ like, Santana?” he asks. “Can you even tell when something is happening between you and Brittany?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and moves on quickly. “Because I think that, for you, it’s as unnoticeable as breathing: you only realize what you’re doing when you’re desperate and you think it’s being taken away from you.” He pauses like he’s waiting for something. “You do know that Blaine and I have been living together as long as you and Brittany have, right? And you do know that we’re still as uncomfortable now as we were when I had to show him where to put his toothbrush?” Santana gives a shrug that is not an answer but an acknowledgement. “We still blush when we know the other is in the bathroom but Brittany sits around your apartment in her underwear and you’re fine. You let her walk in on you when you’re showering. You do laundry together and cook together and I know that you’re going to say that it’s because you’re comfortable being friends but it’s not true.”

 

When he doesn’t continue, it infuriates Santana. She smirks at him bitterly and shrugs her shoulders. “Then what _is_ true, Kurt?” she says. “Why don’t you tell me since you seem to know us so well?”

 

“It’s because you were made for each other,” Kurt says, gracefully ignoring the way that Santana’s body almost buckles in the middle at the words. “It’s because you don’t know any other way to exist around each other than the totally-in-love-way that you were made to but I think Brittany is fighting that and I’m worried you’re going to get hurt because of it.”

 

Silence follows and Santana’s glad for a reprieve. She doesn’t look at Kurt but she does nervously sip at her drink and toy with her napkin. She can feel Kurt’s eyes on her and she doesn’t look at him, not even when she finally speaks.

 

“Uh, you’re _wrong_ ,” she tells him calmly, her words fuelled by the nameless feeling inside of her that tells her what he says is true. It forces her to her feet and she finishes her drink before she reaches into her bag and tosses down a few bills. She shoots Kurt one last look. “But thanks for your concern.”

 

//

 

She’s proved right a few days later when she overhears a conversation between Brittany and Sam.

 

She thinks that Brittany must think that she’s still asleep because she talks freely, whispering that she misses him, that she wishes he was here.

 

The words make Santana pull the covers over her head as she pushes her face into the pillow.

 

Still, she thinks that she can hear more things than she wants to. She’s sure that she hears desperate words and heavy breathing, uncomfortable shifting and hushed whimpers.

 

She doesn’t want to know what it is.

 

It’s none of her business.

 

//

 

The days seem to get colder and colder with each morning.

 

They finally give in and put the heating on just before Halloween but it’s still cold as they open the door to red-nosed zombies and witches.

 

Brittany dresses up as Marilyn Monroe but gives up with her costume within a few hours and switches to her pajamas. It’s cold and Santana reluctantly leaves for work in her too-small outfit just as Brittany’s dragging her covers to the couch and snuggling in.

 

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Santana says as she tries to find more things to wear over her outfit. Whoever thought it was a good idea to have a Moulin Rouge theme at work is an asshole. “I’ll be back around six.”

 

Brittany looks at her and her expression is strange.

 

“What?” Santana asks.

 

Brittany sighs. “I don’t like the idea of you being out in Manhattan, in the cold, dressed like that tonight,” she says quietly. Santana feels her cheeks pink even as Brittany’s face hardens and she goes on regardless of what is stopping her. “I don’t think I like the idea of you being in Manhattan that late _any_ night, actually.”

 

“Britt…” Santana whispers.

 

Brittany shakes her head. “Santana, the bar is great but—” she tries except Santana cuts her off by bending down over the back of the couch and kissing her on the forehead.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” she whispers, stroking back Brittany’s hair.

 

Brittany groans in frustration and looks up at Santana sternly. “But I do…” she breathes. “It isn’t safe. And you’re better than…”

 

Santana shakes her head and sighs. Her smile almost feels grateful.

 

“It’s only temporary,” she whispers, watching how quickly her words calm Brittany.

 

“Stay safe,” Brittany whispers.

 

Santana smiles despite the feeling of something slipping and hurting in her chest. “I will,” she says and her voice is a breath.

 

Big, blue eyes look up at her nervously. “Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

//

 

She’s preoccupied the whole night at work. Her boss has to snap at her a few times but she eventually snaps herself out of it just as things are winding down. Her boss gives her a look as she hands her that night’s tips and Santana doesn’t pay any attention to it before flying out of the door.

 

On her way back, she stops at the grocery store to get stuff to make breakfast and picks up a ton of newspapers too.

 

Brittany’s still asleep when she gets in and starts making eggs, but when she wakes up and finds Santana armed with a marker circling job ads, she just grins and picks up the next paper in the pile before helping her.

 

Bare legs brush Santana’s clothed ones as they spend the morning going through the mountain of papers. Brittany doesn’t have a class until the afternoon and Santana almost falls out of her chair laughing at some of the ads Brittany circles.

 

Santana didn’t know that there are beekeepers in Queens, or that there was such a thing as a sex surrogate, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to do either. She just wants to laugh with Brittany.

 

//

 

Their routine changes.

 

Along Brittany going to school and Santana going to work, Santana also starts going to job interviews in the city.

 

She goes for anything and everything she can find, applying for anything that sounds like it could be fun, hoping that she finds out what she wants to do next while she’s doing it.

 

Each day, she wakes up to a pile of job ads that Brittany’s found, mixed in with random scraps of paper with numbers written on them on their kitchen table. It’s hilarious because only seventy percent of the time Brittany remembers to write down what the number is for. Santana calls the numbers anyway and laughs when Brittany’s slipped in a random number to trick her.

 

She’s called four prostitutes, three male gigolos and a birthday party clown in the space of a week but she doesn’t care when she can hear Brittany laughing her ass off in her bedroom.

 

She doesn’t care at all.

 

//

 

Santana’s sure that everything’s going to be weird again when Quinn decides to visit at Thanksgiving.

 

She’s already had a pretty rough day. She barely slept after work because she had two interviews and then she woke up late. Then she made a complete fool of herself at her first interview—for a job that she would have actually enjoyed doing—and then the second was run by a bunch of old guys who kept trying to look down her shirt. Plus, she told Brittany not to worry about the stuff for Thanksgiving and that she would get it on her way home.

 

The last thing she wants is for her phone to start ringing and to see Quinn’s name on the screen.

 

She manages to ignore it the first three times but picks up on the fourth, if only to tell her she’s busy.

 

She doesn’t expect to hear the words Quinn says.

 

“ _I’m coming for Thanksgiving._ ”

 

//

 

Brittany’s eyes go wide when she tells her.

 

She’s already on her way to the library for some last minute reading before it closes, and she stumbles just barely before she nods quickly and gives Santana a smile.

 

It’s about the only reaction she gets.

 

//

 

Kurt’s is worse.

 

“Why couldn’t you just tell Quinn _no_ , Santana?” he says and Rachel stares between the pair of them in confusion before Kurt scoffs and points at Santana like a petulant child. “Santana had sex with Quinn at Mr. Schue’s wedding!” he squawks. Santana gasps at him and then slaps at him as hard as she can. He ducks out of the way. Asshole. “And Brittany reacted weirdly when she told her and now Santana’s invited Quinn for Thanksgiving at the apartment that they share!”

 

Rachel just stares with her jaw almost touching the table top. Blaine looks at them over the top of his book and Santana has the sneaking suspicion that he already probably knew. She groans and pushes away from the table to get up.

 

“Santana…” Rachel says awkwardly. “That’s… that’s really bad.”

 

Santana spins around and shakes her head. “I didn’t invite her,” she says. “She invited herself. She said that she was originally supposed to be eating here but now we’re not and I couldn’t just say that she couldn’t come because it might be weird for Brittany. That would just make Britt feel worse!”

 

She knows she’s right. When she looks up at Kurt and Rachel, they look like they know she’s right too. She sighs and flops down onto their couch.

 

“Fuck,” she breathes. Her hands fly to clutch at her face and she shakes her head. “What am I going to do?”

 

//

 

Their small apartment feels tiny with all of them there.

 

Santana and Brittany wake up early and get the turkey ready in their pajamas, laughing and shrieking at how gross it is. They chop vegetables and watch the news ready for the parade later on. The radio plays quietly in the kitchen and Santana watches Brittany quietly to see if she can notice anything off.

 

Except Brittany seems fine.

 

She smiles when Kurt, Rachel and Blaine arrive, presenting the pumpkin pie, vegan alternative and refreshments that Santana had asked them to bring. They comment on how she’s still in her pajamas and she rolls her eyes at them before disappearing to get changed.

 

When she reappears, Brittany’s in the dress that she’d showed Santana last week, a dark blue fifties thing that makes her look beautiful. It makes Santana feel underdressed in her new jeans and shirt but she doesn’t really care when she leaves her bedroom and Quinn is stood there taking off her coat.

 

They haven’t seen each other since Santana snuck out that morning but Quinn is grinning at her as she kisses everyone’s cheeks.

 

She tries to kiss Brittany’s cheek before Santana’s but Brittany just excuses herself to the kitchen before she can. There’s nothing rude about it. She _does_ need to check the turkey, but everyone bar Quinn looks at Santana knowingly. She ignores them quickly.

 

“Good to see you, Santana,” Quinn whispers as she leans in to kiss her cheek. Santana stiffens and doesn’t miss how Quinn’s lips hit the corner of her mouth and how she lingers too long.

 

She springs back before Quinn does and looks straight to the kitchen before walking towards it.

 

“Drinks,” she whispers. “I’ll get drinks.”

 

//

 

Dinner goes fine. For someone who says she can’t cook, Brittany’s a perfect Martha Stewart throughout dinner, taking on all the responsibilities of getting everything ready and spending most of her time in the kitchen.

 

Santana sits beside her at dinner and is glad that Quinn is sandwiched between Kurt and Rachel on their borrowed for the day dining table. It makes it easier to avoid any unwanted touching and whenever Brittany is at the table, Santana insists on talking to her, asking her if she needs any help or if she’s okay.

 

Brittany just nods and Santana knows that she isn’t.

 

She knows it because Brittany barely looks at her, and doesn’t seem excited as she watches the parade. She knows it because Brittany’s hands clench into the bottom of her dress through the apron she wears and the tight smile she’s worn all day. She only has a small piece of dessert and maybe some of her weirdness is because this is her first Thanksgiving away from her family, but Santana doesn’t see it when Brittany pulls Tubbs onto her lap to call them after dinner.

 

She sees it when Rachel, Kurt and Blaine are invited to a party later that evening. It’s dark and starting to snow, but they pull on their coats anyway. Brittany shakes her head at going, so Santana does too. She doesn’t expect Quinn to follow her lead but they can’t exactly tell her she has to go.

 

For what it’s worth, Kurt tries valiantly to get Quinn to come with them.

 

She refuses adamantly and they leave reluctantly.

 

It must take ten minutes before it gets awkward sitting there in silence. Santana winces when Brittany jumps up and pulls Tubbs into her arms protectively.

 

“I’m tired,” she says around a laugh. “It’s been a long day, so I’ll—uh—leave you guys alone.”

 

Santana winces at the words and doesn’t get up. If Quinn notices anything out of the ordinary she doesn’t mention it and gets up to kiss Brittany on the cheek. Her bedroom door closes a few moments later and Santana wonders what happens next, working out each reaction to every possible scenario and not even really paying attention as Quinn takes her by the hand and pulls her up.

 

“I was thinking we could catch up,” she says as she pulls Santana towards the other side of the apartment. “We didn’t really get to talk after Mr. Schue’s wedding…”

 

She’s in her bedroom before she realizes what’s happening. They stand there unmoving for a moment before Quinn grins and moves in steadily towards her. Santana balls her fists awkwardly at her sides, not knowing what to do for a second before she jumps back. She shakes her head before Quinn can get close enough again.

 

“I think you should go,” she says and Quinn smirks at her before trying to reach for her. It makes Santana feel weird and she takes another step back before she shakes her head more forcefully a second time. “No, Quinn,” she mutters. “I don’t… I don’t want this…”

 

She trails off and Quinn’s face drops into acknowledgement. She straightens her back and, strangely, she smiles. She smiles and it’s full of understanding. Her eyes glance to the side, back out towards the living room before she nods.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” she says and she doesn’t sound sad or confused or upset at all. She doesn’t even sound like she has some lunatic plan for revenge. She just sounds like she understands. “I see,” she whispers and then steps back into the living room to grab her coat. She puts it on quietly before grabbing her bag and nodding. She almost seems amused by everything. “About time,” she says before opening the door. “Bye, Santana,” she winks. “Keep in touch.” 

 

The door closes and Santana stares after her, wondering if that really happened.

 

//

 

She waits a few minutes before knocking on Brittany’s door. Her TV is on loud and Santana knocks just as loudly to get her attention.

 

The door cracks open a few seconds later and Brittany looks at her confused before staring back into her room like it might have the answers.

 

“Are you… Are you okay?” she asks quietly. Santana watches as she gulps visibly, eying her with nervous suspicion. “Do you need a dental dam or something?”

 

Santana’s first instinct is to snort. She beams at Brittany’s words, even while nerves bubble in her gut. She shakes her head and smiles.

 

“Quinn’s gone,” she says carefully. “I sent her home and I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie, maybe?”

 

Something in Brittany’s face softens and her eyes light up. She looks past Santana to see if she’s telling the truth, if it’s really just them. All she finds is snacks sitting out on the table, a pile of blankets and _The Wizard of Oz_ playing quietly on the TV.

 

The moment when Brittany nods gently and opens her door wider, is Santana’s favorite part of the whole day.

 

//

 

The next morning, she wakes up on their couch with Brittany’s head in her lap and the TV still playing in the background.

 

Brittany’s quilt covers them and Santana doesn’t get up when she realizes where she is. She doesn’t move and she doesn’t make a sound to wake Brittany up, regardless of how uncomfortable it should feel.

 

She just sighs and lets her eyes close again.

 

//

 

They’re still lying like that later on when Brittany asks her about Quinn.

 

She’s eating the leftover turkey sandwich Santana just made her and she’s paying more attention to that and the TV than to Santana.

 

“So, how come Quinn left last night?” she mumbles, tearing off the crusts on her sandwich like always. “I thought there was something going on between you two?”

 

At first, Santana’s too shocked to answer. Instead, she stares down at Brittany in her lap until blue eyes look up at her. Slim shoulders shrug against her thighs and Brittany slips some crust into her mouth.

 

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Brittany says. “I mean, it was major awkward for a while because I had no idea how to act around you guys now. But I could have like… turned the TV up loud—really loud—or worn headphones or something to block out the n—”

 

“Britt, stop.”

 

Brittany’s eyes narrow and she puts down the crust she was about to eat. Santana breathes out heavily and almost laughs at her own discomfort.

 

“There’s nothing going on between me and Quinn,” she says plainly, looking at the TV. “We slept together at Mr. Schue’s wedding and maybe Quinn was hoping there would be a repeat performance, but I didn’t want that. It was weird enough the first time. And the second.”

 

Her eyes dart down to Brittany’s quickly because she didn’t mean to admit that. She’s shocked when she finds blue eyes wide with shock and amusement.

 

“Oh, really?” Brittany asks lowly, reaching above her to poke Santana in the stomach. “What was _that_ like?”

 

It makes Santana blush and she pushes away Brittany’s hand with a laugh.

 

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” she mutters and Brittany giggles, even as her own cheeks pink with something else.

 

“Whatever,” Brittany mumbles, her eyes turning back to the TV. She sits in silence for a while and Santana watches her the whole time, until her smile drops. She swallows heavily and when the commercials come on, she looks up at Santana with clear eyes and warm cheeks. “I’m _really_ glad we’re friends again, Santana,” she says.

 

Santana’s hand moves without thinking. It pushes Brittany’s hair from her face and behind her ear.

 

“Me too,” she whispers but it feels like she should say more.

 

//

 

Santana’s job search is still going on in December.

 

She still works five nights a week and she’s exhausted because she barely sleeps anymore. She’s going to fewer interviews because of that and is being more particular about which jobs she applies for. Money becomes more important than her dreams for a while, what with needing to buy Christmas presents and her plane ticket back to Ohio for the holidays.

 

Brittany understands completely and even asks to work a few weekends just so that she doesn’t have to dip into her savings. Their boss accepts without discussion. Brittany’s hot and she’s talented and it’s the holiday season. They need to be at their best for the rush of business that always comes with the festivities.

 

And it’s really fun having Britt back because, as much as Santana loves the girls she works with, none of them are like Britt. There’s no one to wind down with after work and there’s no one who knows Santana all that well.

 

Santana sings songs that make Brittany jump up onto the bar and pull out her best moves. They reenact Glee club numbers, knowing the moves without thinking. The other girls can’t keep up and, at the end of the night, their boss slips them extra cash because they work the hardest.

 

It makes Santana more aware of how comfortable they’ve both become, especially when Santana’s pouring a beer for a customer and Brittany steps up behind her, taps her on the ass and whispers “hottie at eleven o’clock is checking you out.”

 

Santana glances up and then shoots Brittany a look. “What?” she asks over the noise of the music.

 

Brittany grins and steps in close. “There’s a girl standing by the stairs with red hair and she’s been checking you out for about half an hour now.”

 

Santana looks up and, sure enough, there’s a kind of cute girl standing there watching her. The girl grins when she sees her looking and Santana turns away, looking over at Brittany. “So?” she says.

 

Brittany just shrugs and grins, grabbing her cowboy hat as the song changes.

 

“She’s cute,” she comments before climbing onto the bar.

 

For a minute, Santana doesn’t know where to look. Both the redhead and Brittany make her feel equally confused.

 

//

 

Kurt and Rachel come over to arrange their flights back to Ohio on a Tuesday afternoon.

 

Santana makes them lunch while still wearing her pajamas. She ignores the judgmental looks from Kurt, not caring that it’s past noon or that she’s wearing footie pajamas and a cardigan, and listens to Rachel.

 

“I found five flights to Columbus on the twenty-second for really cheap,” Rachel says, looking through a piece of paper in front of her.

 

Santana shakes her head instantly. “I can’t fly until the twenty-third,” she says. “Neither can Britt. We’re both working.”

 

“And we can’t leave any later than the twenty-second,” Rachel mumbles before tapping her pen against the page. “I can get two flights on the afternoon of the twenty-third?”

 

Santana nods and opens her mouth to speak when the front door opens. She turns to watch as Brittany wanders in, the bags over her shoulder instantly dumped at the bottom of their coat stand.  Santana instantly notices how Brittany’s face is pale and how she walks with a wince. She watches as Brittany doesn’t speak, just heads over to the couch before collapsing down on it wordlessly. She curls into the fetal position and rubs her face into one of the cushions, as a hand lingers on her stomach.

 

Santana’s eyes flash to the calendar on their fridge, sighing knowingly when she sees the date before jumping up and heading for the kitchen cupboards.

 

Kurt and Rachel watch as she grabs some painkillers and starts boiling the kettle before grabbing a hot water bottle from under the sink. She says nothing to them, just continues finding Brittany’s favorite tea and putting it in her favorite cup.

 

Without a word, she crosses the room and crouches down beside Brittany, rubbing over her back until she turns over. There are tears running down Brittany’s cheeks and Santana clicks her tongue before pulling her into a hug.

 

“Hurts,” Brittany mumbles, just like she always does at the familiar pain.

 

Santana nods and rubs the place at Brittany’s back that always makes her feel a little better. “I know,” she soothes. “Go wash up and put your pajamas on and I’ll get everything ready, okay?”

 

Brittany nods and accepts the help to pull herself upright on the chair. Santana brushes her hair from Brittany’s face and watches her sigh before getting up. She shoots a smile at Kurt and Rachel through her discomfort before disappearing into her bedroom, only to reemerge a second later and head to the bathroom.

 

Two sets of eyes are staring at Santana when she returns to the kitchen. Kurt looks bewildered and Rachel looks curious. Santana ignores them both and fills up a hot water bottle and Brittany’s tea. She takes both to the coffee table before she finds _Up_ and _Finding Nemo_ and puts them by the TV. Beady eyes watch her as she rifles through the hall closet to find a clean towel and Brittany’s spare blankets. They watch as she lays the towel over Brittany’s usual seat in bewildered confusion, narrow their eyes at her as she arranges the blankets ready for her to crawl underneath.

 

“Santana…” Rachel starts but cuts off when the bathroom door opens and Brittany walks out.

 

Santana’s waiting for her and she climbs onto the couch without argument, taking the hot water bottle and pressing it against her stomach as she snuggles under the covers when they’re pulled up around her.

 

“ _Up_ or _Nemo_?” Santana asks.

 

Brittany wipes away the tears still drying on her face. “ _Nemo_ ,” she says and Santana’s not sure why she even asked.

 

Her face contorts in pain and her body curls into itself. A squeak of a groan leaves her almost silently and Santana steps over to rub her back without even needing to be asked. Brittany’s eyes flutter and she reaches for Santana’s other hand, holding it tightly.

 

“You okay?” she asks softly, sweeping Brittany’s sweaty hair from her face.

 

Brittany shakes her head and tugs on Santana’s hand. “Cuddle,” she whimpers and Santana barely gives Kurt and Rachel a second glance before she’s climbing in behind her and holding her tight. Her hand finds Brittany’s stomach on instinct and she doesn’t think twice before it’s slipping beneath Brittany’s t-shirt and just under the waistband of her bottoms. Her fingers press in knowingly and Brittany’s body relaxes in her arms as she flattens her palm against the skin.

 

She props herself up on her other arm and looks down at Brittany.

 

“Better?” she asks and Brittany nods, pulling the covers up over their shoulders. A smile pulls at her mouth as Brittany’s body softens more and more. “Good,” she breathes and carries on watching her.

 

She watches her until she hears the squeak of chairs and the rustle of papers. Kurt and Rachel come to sit on the adjacent couch and their eyes say more than the rest of them. Kurt keeps his eyes on Santana’s face while Rachel darts her eyes everywhere else, but Santana ignores them and looks down at Brittany.

 

“So, the twenty-third?” Rachel stutters. Santana nods silently. “I’ll email you the confirmation later on.” She turns to Kurt awkwardly. “Maybe we should go?”

 

Santana glances up at Kurt and sees his expression, notices how it looks worried and knowing at the same time. He glares at Santana when their eyes catch and nods before getting up.

 

“We’ll talk to you later, Santana,” he says and it’s not an empty promise. “Bye, Britt.”

 

Britt hums her goodbyes and the door closes after them a few moments later. Santana keeps still behind Brittany for a long time after they’ve gone. It’s not until Nemo’s gone missing and Marlin’s met Dory and Bruce that she moves. Brittany shifts and tugs Santana’s arm underneath her until it can wrap around her shoulders. Her head drops to the pillow beside Brittany’s and, wordlessly, she shifts until she can bury her hand in the hair atop Brittany’s head.

 

Brittany hums and Santana scratches softly. Her nose presses against the back of Brittany’s neck and she breathes in steadily, drawing in the smell of Brittany’s skin and her sweat.

 

“Better?” she asks again.

 

Brittany doesn’t say anything but Santana’s answer is given to her when Brittany whimpers and her body curls into itself again. Her hand slips from Brittany’s hair to under her chest. Brittany clutches it to her as Santana’s hand slips further down her bottoms, grazing the waistband of her underwear. She whimpers and Santana doesn’t think before she kisses the back of Brittany’s neck.

 

Her fingers rub between the protrusions of Brittany’s hips, easing out the pain and pressing against the skin until whimpers become low hums of appreciation.

 

She doesn’t stop, not even when she hears the soft murmur of Brittany sleeping.

 

But that’s when she starts wondering, starts thinking about all the things she should be. She thinks about best friends, choir rooms and boys with blonde hair. She thinks about blue sapphires and promises made that she never got to keep.

 

She thinks about who she was and who she is now and all things stopping her from being who she wants to be.

 

She thought that she knew what she wanted but, with her arms around Brittany’s body, she realizes she doesn’t know anything at all.

 

//

 

At some point she must fall asleep because the next thing she knows, Brittany’s stirring and waking her up. She jolts awake, staring around in confusion until she remembers where she is.

 

She instantly feels like she’s crossed a line.

 

Before she can let go, Brittany’s arm wraps her own tighter around her and pulls her closer. Warm hands clutch at Santana’s to keep them where they are and a body shuffles back into her to eliminate all space between them. Santana holds in a breath and lets Brittany do what she wants to before she speaks.

 

“I fell asleep,” she comments against Brittany’s hair.

 

Brittany hums at her words and presses against the back of Santana’s fingers so they push into the ache in her pelvis. Santana’s too busy remembering how soft her skin is to realize what she wants. When she does, her cheeks pink and a gasp gets caught in her throat.

 

Brittany groans at the feeling and relaxes further into her. Her head rests on Santana’s shoulder and Santana can feel her breath tickling the underside of her jaw. It’s foreign at the same time it’s unbelievably familiar.

 

“You hungry?” she asks in a whisper. She just wants a reason to get up.

 

Brittany shakes her head. “Feel sick,” she whispers.

 

Santana shifts to get away. “I’ll get you some painkillers.”

 

Arms catch hers and hold on tightly. Brittany pushes back until Santana’s stuck against the back of the couch. Their legs tangle together and Santana swallows at how warm it is beneath the covers, blinks at the overwhelming urge to just let instinct run free.

 

“Please don’t move,” Brittany whispers. Fingers stroke over Santana’s and make her feel a million things. “Can’t I just lay here with you a little longer?”

 

For some reason, a lump catches in Santana’s throat. She turns to bury her face in Brittany’s hair and clutches her closer until their bodies are locked together. It causes a sigh to leave Brittany’s mouth and the sound is soft, relieved. It makes Santana stop caring that Brittany’s shirt has risen up, that she can feel the skin of Brittany’s torso against her arm or that her hand is dangerously low on Brittany’s pelvis with no fabric to protect her.

 

“Sure,” she whispers, not prepared for how Brittany shifts and pushes her further.

 

She just takes a deep breath against her instincts and only lets the appropriate ones win out. She holds Brittany as tight as possible and closes her eyes, trying not to realize that all her dreams are coming true, just not how she expected.

 

//

 

They wake up there on the couch the next morning, Brittany’s alarm on her phone waking them up with a jolt.

 

Santana groans—more used to going to bed at 6am than waking up—and turns onto her back as Brittany forces herself to sit up. Her hand reaches to clutch at her still aching stomach and Santana reaches over to rub her back as she does.

 

“Still hurting?” she asks sleepily. Brittany nods slowly and winces. “Why don’t you stay home?”

 

Blonde hair shakes itself free from tangles as Brittany refuses. “Can’t,” she says quietly. “I have an assignment due on Friday and I have to use the lab.”

 

She gets up and Santana just lays there listening as Brittany showers and then dresses herself. She returns forty-five minutes later and Santana’s confused when she sits back down in the same spot. She doesn’t say anything, just rubs Brittany’s back again until blue eyes turn and look down at her. Santana feels her body rush with something as Brittany’s hand covers the one not rubbing her back.

 

“You’ll be asleep when I get back, right?” she asks. Santana just nods. “Then I’ll see when you wake up?” Santana nods again and only stops her hand moving across Brittany’s back when she bends down and kisses her softly on the forehead. “Bye, Santana.”

 

She makes to move away but, without thinking, Santana pulls her back. Brittany looks at her in confusion but Santana just sits up and wraps her arms around her. She squeezes her tightly and buries her face into the smell of Brittany’s clean hair.

 

“Have a good day, okay?” she whispers. “Make sure you eat something.”

 

Brittany’s lips press against her the hinge of her jaw. She squeezes back just as tightly.

 

“I will,” she breathes and Santana winces as something deep inside of her begins to ache. She pushes Brittany away quickly and flops back down onto the couch.

 

It doesn’t help the pain when Brittany pushes hair behind her ear and leans back down to kiss her on the forehead. She looks at her strangely when she pulls back.

 

“I’ll see you later,” she says again.

 

Santana nods and swallows. “Bye, Britt,” she whispers and, for the first time in months, it feels like she’s forgotten to say something.

 

//

 

Brittany’s cuddled up on the couch again when Santana wakes up. She doesn’t say anything, just makes her tea and a fresh hot water bottle before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. She leaves Brittany a plate and gets ready for work quicker than normal. She bends down beside Brittany when she’s done and finds her head buried under the covers.

 

“You gonna be okay?” she asks quietly. Brittany nods and takes her hand, pulling her in for a hug that Santana gladly accepts. “Text me if you need anything,” she instructs. Brittany chuckles but Santana nudges her reproachfully with the side of her head. “I mean it.”

 

Brittany’s cheeks are pink when she pulls back. “I will,” she says, then does the same thing she did that morning, and kisses her carefully on the forehead. “Stay safe.”

 

Santana nods weakly and leaves without another word.

 

//

 

She feels weird once she gets to work. It’s what they’d call a slow night: they don’t have as many customers as normal and the girls have barely got up onto the bar to do anything. Santana’s been singing ballads all night because she can without the frantic rush of crowds at the bar. It’s a nice change and she’s kind of enjoying it.

 

That’s until she sees a woman staring at her.

 

She blushes because the girl isn’t looking at her like the other patrons do. It’s not particularly lustful or wanting. It’s just a curious stare that makes Santana feel like she’s completely naked.

 

The girl notices because she begins moving through the thin crowd to where Santana stands behind the bar. As soon as she gets close enough, there’s something familiar about her and Santana’s stomach drops when she realizes that she’s the same girl Brittany pointed out the week before. Her cheeks burn a little more and she clears her throat before smiling.

 

“What can I get you?” she asks as nonchalantly as she can.

 

The woman doesn’t say anything, just taps the beer tap with her finger. Santana pours the drink and eyes her carefully.

 

“You’ve been here before,” Santana says and the woman smiles as she nods.

 

“I’m Carolyn,” she says brightly. “And you’re Rosario.”

 

Santana smirks and takes the hand the woman reaches out for her to shake. “Yes, but only within these walls.” The woman frowns and Santana laughs. “My name’s Santana.”

 

The woman’s face falls in understanding before her smile grows. “I like that better,” she says.

 

//

 

Carolyn barely leaves the bar and stays beside Santana most of the night. They talk about random things but Santana never reveals anything personal. All she knows is that Carolyn’s 24, a stockbroker and has only just moved to New York.

 

When she starts telling Santana about her ex-boyfriend, Santana doesn’t know what she feels but listens anyway. She makes a note to mention it to Brittany in the morning but carries on talking to Carolyn, singing her songs between random conversations.

 

Carolyn leaves at 2am when her boss decides to close early and Santana is a little confused when she finds her sat on the hood of her car outside the exit when she leaves an hour later.

 

“Uh… hi?” Santana says stepping over to her. “Did you need directions or something?”

 

Carolyn shakes her head and clears her throat. “I didn’t see any other cars out here,” she says. “And I hated the thought of you getting the subway or a cab home at this time of night.”

 

Santana’s eyes narrows. “Did you ever think that maybe I live close?” she asks.

 

Carolyn laughs and Santana has to admit that she’s kind of pretty. “Do you?”

 

Santana shakes her head. “Brooklyn.”

 

It makes Carolyn’s face light up and she jumps off the hood of her car to walk around to the passenger door. “Well, now I _have_ to give you a ride home,” she shrugs. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I came back on Friday and you’d been murdered.”

 

Something akin to discomfort or dread seeps into Santana’s awareness. She clutches her coat around her tightly and pulls her bag more comfortably over her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she explains. “I take it every night and every morning and I’ve been okay so far.”

 

Carolyn doesn’t look fazed and laughs again. “Well, then, for me, could you just get in the car this once so that I can sleep tonight?” she asks. “I live in Queens, so… it’s not out of my way.”

 

Santana laughs awkwardly. “It’s completely out of your way.”

 

“Not compared to if I lived in the Bronx,” she comments with a laugh. “Come on.”

 

Santana stops and thinks about it for a second. Her head fills of images of Brittany, wondering if she’s still hurting or if she’s eaten. She breathes out because she would rather take the fifteen minute car journey over the half an hour ride on the subway to get back to her. Brittany might even be awake and, with that thought, she nods quickly before stepping closer.

 

//

 

They make the journey in complete silence apart from the few instructions Santana gives to Carolyn once they get into Williamsburg. Santana feels awkward once they pull up outside her building and sits there uncomfortably for a second before moving to open the door.

 

“Wait!” Carolyn says a little too quickly. Santana stops and turns to her, a rush of nerves filling her stomach when she finds a smile staring back at her. “I know I’m totally being rude right now but I completely underestimated how far away you lived from Queens and I’m about ten minutes away from crashing, so—do you think I could come up for some coffee?”

 

Santana’s first thought is _what a line_ , but then she remembers Carolyn telling her all about her ex-boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend before that and wonders if it can be. Maybe Carolyn just needs a friend. And Santana’s a bitch but she really doesn’t want a woman’s death and a head-on collision on her conscience.

 

“Sure,” she nods. “Of course.”

 

//

 

She regrets it the instant that Carolyn’s body presses up against her at her front door.

 

Hands reach for her hips and Santana freezes as she tries to get the key into the lock. Carolyn’s nose buries into her hair and Santana turns her head to try and find a way out.

 

“You know,” Carolyn whispers into her ear. It makes her skin crawl as her eyes dart down to the lock in panic. “This is one of the best things about being in New York and not some shitty little hick town anymore… I can go home with girls and no one gives a shit.”

 

Santana gasps and scrambles to get the door open. Carolyn must take it as an act of desperation because her hands graze Santana’s body, moving too close and too low into places that Santana doesn’t want them to be. The door flies open a few seconds later and Santana breaks free from her grasp into the apartment, stepping as far away as possible. Carolyn just grins at her and reaches for the buttons on her coat before eyeing the couch.

 

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna go put some coffee on,” Santana says quietly. She wants to scream at the woman to get the fuck out but she doesn’t want to wake up Britt or any of their neighbors. She doesn’t want anyone to know that she accidentally brought a woman home.

 

That goes out of the window thirty seconds later when she wanders into the kitchen and finds Brittany asleep at their table in an oversized t-shirt, short shorts and thick wool socks. She stirs awake as Santana steps in and narrows her eyes at whatever expression has found its way onto her face.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly.

 

“ _Santana?_ ” Carolyn calls from the couch.

 

Brittany’s face screws up in confusion. “Who’s that?” she says sleepily.

 

Santana does the first thing she can think of and slaps her hand over Brittany’s mouth while a finger presses over the lips of her own. She reaches over to the counter to turn on the radio and drown out any sound.

 

“Do you remember redhead from the bar?” she whispers as quietly as she can.

 

Brittany’s eyes widen and she nods her head in confusion, fighting away Santana’s hand. “Did you bring her _home_?” she asks and there’s a half-smirk on her lips. “ _Already_?!”

 

Santana swats at Brittany and shakes her head quickly, pushing her further out of sight in case Carolyn is looking. “Listen. I think she’s crazy,” she breathes. “She gave me a ride home and talked her way up here for coffee and now she’s trying to get into my pants and I _do not want that_ , Britt.” She grabs Brittany by the biceps and looks at her desperately. “I need you to _help me_.”

 

What Santana doesn’t expect is for Brittany’s lips to purse in amusement, her nostrils flaring as she tries to bite back a burst of laughter. Santana slaps a hand back over her mouth and shushes her as quietly as she can, trying to fight off her own smile.

 

“Did you _tell_ her that?” she asks quietly once she’s controlled herself.

 

Santana just looks at her. “I didn’t tell her _anything_ ,” she hisses. “I spent all night talking to her about herself and now she just pounced on me like some fucking cougar and I have no idea what I’m going to do. Help me.”

 

“Tell her to leave,” Brittany says plainly.

 

Santana scoffs. “I can’t do that,” she says. “She might turn into a lunatic and try to kill me.”

 

The words earn her a roll of the eyes and the sight of Brittany folding her arms across her chest as she looks at her fondly. There’s a few moments of silence before—

 

“Put the coffee on,” Brittany tells her. Santana does so without argument before Brittany nods out into the living room. “You’re gonna go out there and ask her how she takes it, okay? Her coffee that is…”

 

Santana shakes her head. “Britt—”

 

Brittany grabs her by the waist and it cuts off anything she was going to say. “You’re gonna do that, and then I’ll come out and join you, okay? I’m going to be your girlfriend for a minute and all you have to do is go along with everything I do and I promise you she’ll be gone in a heartbeat. Trust me?”

 

Santana nods. “Duh,” she breathes.

 

Brittany spins her around and taps her on the ass to make her leave. “You can do it!”

 

//

 

Carolyn’s taken off her jacket and a few of the buttons on her shirt have been popped open by the time Santana gets back. She’s lounging on the couch, smirking and slowly teasing her fingers beneath the collar of her shirt.

 

“How do you take your coffee?” Santana asks as nonchalantly as she can. Carolyn grins and reaches a hand out for her. Santana has no idea what to do until the sound of something clattering to floor breaks through the silence.

 

“Uh, who’s that?” Carolyn asks, her face falling.

 

Santana doesn’t get to answer because Brittany’s voice breaks through the awkward silence. “Babe? Where did you put the whipped cream?” Carolyn’s face falls into confusion. Santana tries not to grin. “Oh, don’t worry! I found it!”

 

“Santana…”

 

Any words that were planning to come from Carolyn’s mouth cease to when Brittany steps out into the living room. She catches them both off guard, colliding into the back of Santana as her arms wrap tightly around her body. Santana’s struck with how different it felt to have Carolyn’s hands on her because Brittany holds her in a way that makes her gasp in for a multitude of reasons. She pushes back into Brittany’s embrace and does as she’s told, going with it as Brittany starts to touch her in ways she hasn’t for a long time.

 

“Britt…” she gasps and it works. She finds Brittany’s hand around her waist with her own and clutches it to her, trying to desperately ignore how the other cups under her breast in a tease.

 

A nose nuzzles into Santana’s neck and breathes against her skin. “You smell good,” Brittany says and Santana watches as Carolyn’s face falls even further. “I missed you tonight. I hate being all alone.”

 

“Britt…” Santana says breathlessly, disbelief trying to fight its way into her words in shock. “Wait, I have company…” Brittany pulls away to look up and Santana turns in her arms to look Brittany in the eye. There’s a dark mischief in her expression and her cheeks are pink with mirth. “This is Carolyn,” Santana eventually manages to say. “She gave me a ride home. I was just making her some coffee.”

 

Brittany barely gives Carolyn a proper glance. “Oh, hi,” she says before she buries her face in Santana’s neck. “Come to bed,” she breathes before kisses litter against Santana’s skin.

 

It isn’t hard to fake a reaction to that. Santana’s eyes roll back into her head and her nails dig themselves into the skin of Brittany’s hands. Brittany smiles against her and Santana’s sure she feels a laugh hidden against her hair. She eyes Carolyn carefully and watches how her expression shrouds itself with embarrassment but nothing else. Desperate, Santana reaches her hand to bury her fingers in Brittany’s hair and turns her face so that she can press a kiss to the side of Brittany’s face.

 

It’s enough. Carolyn reaches for her coat as Brittany urges Santana forward until her knees hit the arm of the couch. Fingers pinch Santana under the arm and Brittany hisses a _c’mon_ before she spins her around and pushes her down onto the couch. She grunts as her back hits the cushions and a rush of excitement flows through her at the sight of Brittany climbing on after her as Carolyn gets up.

 

“Where—where are you going?” she manages to ask as Brittany crawls up her body and buries her face back into her neck. Santana’s hands wrap around Brittany’s shoulders to draw her in and keep her close.

 

Carolyn pulls on her coat and shrugs awkwardly. “I should go,” she nods.

 

“You’re so sexy,” Brittany mutters into Santana’s chest as her kisses move lower.

 

Santana bites her lip to stop her natural reaction. “What about your coffee?” she asks and her voice sounds thicker than usual.

 

Carolyn shakes her head. “I completely forgot that I have an early meeting tomorrow and I should have been home hours ago and I just—”

 

She trails off as Brittany lifts her head level with Santana’s. Brittany kisses Santana’s chin but from Carolyn’s angle it must look like she’s kissing her deeply. Santana grimaces and tries not to burst out laughing at Brittany’s fake moans. She feels ridiculous, completely and wonderfully ridiculous.

 

“I’m just gonna let myself out,” she hears Carolyn say as Brittany groans at the over-enthusiastic kisses she presses to Santana’s nose.

 

“Wait!” Santana calls, even as she hears the door open. “Carolyn… your coffee—”

 

The door slams shut and just as suddenly, Brittany sits up and looks behind her. Santana watches her and can’t control the laughter that bubbles up her throat. Brittany’s hand covers her mouth, muffling the sounds before they can be heard.

 

“Wait, wait, wait…” she whispers, listening carefully.

 

Santana holds her breath, her laughs still erupting beneath Brittany’s hand. She vaguely hears the sounds of footsteps disappearing down the stairwell, watches as Brittany’s head snaps to face the window looking out onto the street, waiting for the sound of the front door opening a few seconds later.

 

“Success,” she whispers and that just makes Santana’s laughs come quicker. Brittany giggles with her and brushes the hair from back from Santana’s face. “I told you.”

 

Santana’s stomach starts to hurt from laughing too much and her smile feels too wide for her face. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” she chuckles uncontrollably. “I mean… I mean… did you see her face…?”

 

Brittany’s giggles aren’t as loud as her own and that fact alone makes Santana open her eyes and look up at her.

 

And just like that, quicker than a speeding bullet, nothing’s funny anymore. Bright blue eyes stare down at her and Santana remembers where they are, what Brittany’s dressed like. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel funny that Brittany’s on all fours above her dressed in just a t-shirt, shorts and socks. The blonde hair falling around her face doesn’t make her want to laugh. Her expression isn’t amusing.

 

In fact, it’s dark and serious. It’s full of more things than Santana can name and panic rises inside of her, burning her with regret she doesn’t really understand.

 

When Brittany’s eyes flutter closed, her lips part and she leans in, Santana does exactly what her gut tells her to and turns her face.

 

Brittany’s kiss lands wetly against her cheek and when she pulls back quickly to see why, Santana sees her wake up.

 

Her eyes grow wide and then narrow just as quickly. She doesn’t move at first, just looks. Santana doesn’t push her away and watches her carefully. When Brittany sits up and shakes her head, Santana knows in an instant that things are going to be different. She already has a million questions she can’t speak because Brittany’s still atop her.

 

“I’m—I’m sorry…” Brittany stutters as she pulls herself back until she’s sitting on Santana’s thighs. Santana reaches for her but Brittany shakes her head and clears her throat. “I’m so sorry…” she whispers as she gets up off of her. Santana watches as her expression hardens adamantly. “I’m sorry,” she says when she gets to her bedroom door. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t…”

 

Her words trail off behind Brittany’s closed door. Too stunned to move, Santana doesn’t call after her, doesn’t follow her. She just lays there and stares at the wood. Her hand reaches up to press against the still wet spot against her cheek and her brain rushes to think a million different thoughts at once.

 

They move to fast for her to understand them clearly and, instead of figuring them out, she lays her head back and sighs, wondering what happens next.

 

She knows she won’t like it.

 

//

 

In the days that follow, Brittany barely talks to her and Santana really doesn’t mind because she doesn’t want to confront what it meant.

 

She’d got used to what they were. She was starting to like it. It pisses her off that whenever they settle, something always happens.

 

But, at the same time, she wants to know what it meant. She wants to know why Brittany chose to lean in and try to kiss her. She wants to know if it’s something or nothing but at the same time, she doesn’t know what she’ll do if it’s either.

 

She wants to know what Brittany’s thinking but doesn’t even know what she’s thinking herself.

 

She thinks it’s a good thing that she barely sees Brittany over the next couple of weeks. She spends a lot of time at school finishing off projects and papers and doing exams. Santana’s usually at work by the time that she gets in from school and Brittany’s usually gone when she gets home.

 

Brittany works during the weekends but they barely talk as they leave together. Brittany buries herself into her coat as soon as they get on the subway and listens to her iPod. Santana sits and wonders if it’ll be snowing this much in Lima next week. Once they get to the bar, Brittany talks to the other girls while Santana gets straight to work. They barely interact until it’s time to head home.

 

On the last Sunday they have at work, Santana feels weirder than normal. They’re leaving for Lima tomorrow and she still hasn’t packed. She doesn’t know what happens once they get there, if she’ll see Brittany or if everything will be different by the time they get back. She hopes that the break will be good for them, that things will stop being awkward, but a dark part of her brain wonders if they’ll come back worse.

 

She watches Brittany from across the bar and debates just going up to her and telling her that she doesn’t care about should or shouldn’t. She doesn’t even want to know why. She just wants what they had back. She wants to be where they were last week: happy and content best friends. She can pretend it never happened if Brittany wants to.

 

She just hates how Brittany’s so distant and present at the same time that she almost wishes that she weren’t there at all.

 

//

 

It’s a thought that she regrets a few hours later.

 

They try to leave the bar at five o’clock and it’s snowing harder than ever. Santana can barely see in front of her face and she looks to Brittany in panic, knowing they’re both thinking the same thing. They have a flight to catch in nine hours and it’s their only chance to get home for Christmas.

 

They make their way to the subway station but it’s closed. There’s a cop by the entrance guiding people away, giving them directions and he explains to Santana that it’s not safe for the trains to go anywhere. He asks them where they live and when they tell him, he tells them to hurry home before they close all the bridges.

 

There are no cabs, so they have to walk. It takes them over an hour and they’re exhausted when they get back. The sun is just starting to come up and Brittany flops down onto the couch to put on the TV, but Santana disappears into her bedroom to pack.

 

She’s confused when Brittany calls her name a few moments later.

 

“Yeah?” she calls back.

 

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” Brittany calls back.

 

Santana steps back into the living room and her eyes narrow when she finds Brittany watching the news.

 

“ _…and for those just joining us, good morning and here it is again, New York City is on lockdown. All major routes in an out of the city are blocked. All bridges and tunnels will be closed as of 9am. All bus terminals and other public transit services have already been suspended and, this just in, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey has just confirmed that all flights from its airports are suspended until further notice. New York City is on lockdown._ ”

 

Santana feels a pounding in her chest. “Shit…” she mumbles. “What are we going to do?”

 

She feels Brittany’s eyes on her but they turn away when Santana meets them with her own. She shrugs her shoulders and taps the remote against her knee.

 

“They say it’s going to get worse,” she mumbles. “That we should get supplies and wait it out.”

 

“For how long?”

 

Brittany shrugs. “They didn’t say,” she says. “But we’re going to miss our flight.”

 

Santana watches her carefully, nervously, and sees Brittany gulp visibly at what she’s saying.

 

“Kurt, Blaine and Rachel have already left so we’ll have to spend Christmas here,” Brittany explains in a whisper. “Just the two of us.”

 

Brittany looks up at her and when their eyes meet, it’s different. Weird.

 

The expression on Brittany’s face makes her shift uncomfortably and there’s something about it that’s familiar. It’s dark and serious and it makes her breath catch in her throat. Brittany looks at her for longer than she’s looked at her in days and, for a moment, Santana’s sure she understands and knows everything she wants to. She gulps because she doesn’t know what to expect.

 

She feels nervous and excited and worried.

                                                                                                           

The next few days are going to make them or break them. She can feel it.

 

“Just the two of us,” she whispers and, just as nervously, Brittany nods.

 

“Just the two of us.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Negatives

 

“Do _not_ have sex with your ex-girlfriend!”

 

The shrillness of Kurt’s voice makes her jump. She lets her eyes bug out of her head before she quickly closes her bedroom door and leans against it. If there was any human being whose voice could permeate three rooms and four walls, it’s Kurt Hummel.

 

“First of all,” she starts in a hissed whisper. “Keep your damn voice down, idiot. Second, how in the hell did you get from _stuck in a snow storm_ to _don’t have sex with your ex-girlfriend_? Where did that even come from?”

 

There’s noise at the other end of the line and Santana waits impatiently for Kurt to continue. She hears footsteps and some doors closing and then a sigh. “Sorry,” Kurt says. “My folks were coming back and Finn is here and I didn’t want anyone over-hearing.”

 

Santana doesn’t say anything. She’s too busy waiting and panicking that Brittany might come in or overhear. Plus, she’s exhausted and she doesn’t have time for this shit.

 

A further two minutes go by—Santana counts—and Kurt still hasn’t said anything.

 

“I’m waiting, Hummel,” she says lowly. It’s enough.

 

“Santana, I love you, you’re the most ridiculous, mean yet incredibly fabulous bitch I’ve ever met, but you’re so clueless,” he sighs softly. “Do you not realize what your current predicament means? It means that you and Brittany are going to be stuck in New York on your own until God knows when. Stuck in your incredibly small apartment where a soft surface is only five feet away at all times. I mean, if you even make it to the end of the day before having your first accidental make out I’ll be incredibly surprised but—Santana?”

 

Santana feels her cheeks blush and doesn’t say anything. She figures that if she doesn’t do anything to excuse the sharp intake of breath she just took then he can’t accuse her of something. He can’t see her or smell her fear or anything like that. She could be gasping in horror or scoffing quietly or yawning. She’ll appear completely innocent.

 

Turns out she’s wrong.

 

“You already almost made-out, didn’t you?” Santana remains stubbornly silent. Kurt snorts and Santana’s sure she hears a sigh. “When?”

 

When the line has been silent, from both their stubborn refusal to give in, for longer than a minute, Santana decides that she really is too tired for today. She gives in.

 

“Almost two weeks ago,” she whispers before flopping back onto her bed.

 

Kurt chuckles quietly, almost fondly. Santana can almost hear the _Oh, you_ that he wants to give her. She rolls over and buries her face into her pillow, desperate to force away the blush in her cheeks and waits for whatever patronising comment Kurt has next.

 

He starts with a sigh. “And what happened then to make you lose control so wildly? I mean… apart from than the usual.”

 

The question gives Santana a smug sense of satisfaction. She turns her face on the pillow and smirks happily. “Actually, it wasn’t me that lost control,” she tells him airily. “It’s a long story but… the short version is that I almost got murdered by this chick who talked her way home with me and Britt helped me to get rid of her and—somehow—we ended up on the couch and she leant in.”

 

“ _She_ leant in?” Kurt repeats. Santana hums the affirmative. There’s a pause. “Well, that’s interesting. What did you do?”

 

Santana narrows her eyes. “I turned away before it could happen,” she says even though it should be obvious. “She has a damn boyfriend, Kurt.”

 

“Yet, she lives with you… and now she’s trying to kiss you…” Kurt ponders quietly. Santana just swallows down all the things she’s feelings, all the things that she hasn’t wanted to think about. They just make her more and more confused and hurt.

 

“It was a mistake,” she says quickly. She swallows again because, for some reason, she wants to cry. “It was just… a really, really dumb mistake and she hasn’t really spoke to me since.”

 

“Sure… Sure…” Kurt says and there’s something softer in his voice, something that knows her and can tell what she’s feeling. He pauses again and she’s sure she hears a sigh. “Call me if anything changes, okay?” he says a few moments. “Call me if you need me.”

 

Santana nods and clears her throat. “Sure.”

 

“No, Santana,” he says and she stops at the sound of his voice. “Call me if you need me. For _anything_.”

 

Her hands feel like they’re shaking and, weirdly, she’s overwhelmed with the feeling of missing him, of missing Kurt. She wishes she were in Lima or that he were here, that he could help her understand and not judge her when she got confused and angry.

 

“Okay,” she mumbles. “Merry Christmas, Kurt.”

 

She thinks she can hear the smile in his voice. “Merry Christmas, Santana.”

 

//

 

When she’s calmed herself down enough to call her mom and leave her room, she’s surprised to find Brittany sat on the couch wearing every bit of her outdoor clothing but the coat in her hands.

 

She looks up at Brittany and Santana instantly can’t get over how nervous and adorable she looks. She eyes her quietly for a moment before clearing her throat and narrowing her eyes.

 

“Did you call your parents?” she asks instead of the question she actually wants to.

 

Brittany nods quickly. “Yeah,” she says and then clears her throat awkwardly. “They understood. My mom said that my dad checked the weather and that it’s going to get worse, that there’s going to be a big storm later on tonight and that we should go get as many supplies as we can because it’s supposed to last all week.” She pauses and shrugs her shoulders a little. Her face becomes uncomfortable and nervous. “I was going to go to the grocery store and I just wondered if there was anything special you wanted…”

 

Something in Santana drops and she doesn’t know why. She feels disappointed and she steps a little closer before hunching her shoulders a little and clearing her throat as quietly as she can.

 

“You—you don’t want me to come with you or anything?”

 

Shockingly, Brittany looks surprised by the suggestion. Her eyes grow wide and she has to nod because her words won’t work.

 

“I—I mean… If you want,” she mumbles quietly. “I just—I didn’t that you’d…” She stops and clears her throat, laughs at herself nervously before jumping up. “I need to use the bathroom,” she whispers. “Give me a call when you’re ready.”

 

//

 

No public transportation is working and any cab that comes across their path is already occupied.

 

Brittany doesn’t seem to care about this. She wears boots up to her knees, her socks poking out the top of them and she looks like she’s wearing about fourteen layers of clothing. She has the huge pack she brought with her when she moved here hanging on her back and Santana wants to laugh because it’s so empty that it looks ridiculous.

 

They trek through Brooklyn in a snowstorm that’s slowly getting heavier to try and find supplies, heading for the grocery store and praying that they actually have something left.

 

Santana shivers a little from the cold and wishes she’d put another sweater on. She’s not really used to wearing this much clothing and she doesn’t really know how to. She’s always worn dresses through winter for most of her life—it’s an ability that comes from wearing cheerleading skirts every day—but weather like this is entirely out of her league. She has no idea what she’s doing and now there’s a chill in her back and she’s shivering. She’s pretty sure her ears are blue and she can’t feel the tip of her nose.

 

Brittany’s the opposite. She knows exactly how to dress for weather like this.

 

Santana should be more shocked when she suddenly reaches for her through the snow and drags her into a doorway before taking her bag off of her back.

 

“Britt, what are you doing?” she says over the whistling of the wind. “The snow’s getting thicker and we need to hurry.”

 

Brittany doesn’t reply, just keeps on digging through the various pockets in the bag. Santana folds her arms around herself and can’t stop the annoyance that creeps into her body alongside the cold. She looks down at Brittany, unimpressed, and shuffles on the spot to get warm.

 

“Britt, come on,” she says when she can barely see three feet in front of her face. “We have to go. We have to hurry.”

 

Brittany stands up quickly and it makes Santana stumble back a little when she realizes how close they are. She’s confused when Brittany’s hands reach up and fix her collar, rearranging the scarf around her neck and tucking it into her coat. She fastens the top button that Santana usually can’t before pulling a second scarf from inside the bag. She’s silent as she wraps it around Santana’s neck, making sure it covers up to her ears. There’s barely an expression on her face, just softness.

 

“What are you doing?” Santana asks and her voice is too quiet to be heard over the wind but Brittany still hears it.

 

She makes sure that Santana’s hair isn’t tucked uncomfortably into the scarf and brushes it from her eyes before shrugging softly. Santana’s so busy watching her face that she doesn’t see what she grabs from the bag next.

 

“You’re shivering,” Brittany comments and the only words to describe her voice are timid and nervous. “And your nose is starting to look a little blue.” Hands reach up to her head and Santana’s not ready for the thick hat that gets pulled over down over her ears. She startles a little and then her breath catches as she stares speechlessly at Brittany. “Plus,” Brittany says much lower and softer, almost reverently. Something changes in her eyes. “Your little ears are cold. They’re going red.”

 

The words make Santana’s breath hitch with remembrance. She stares at Brittany and feels herself swallow as the memory washes over her. All she can think about is the winter before last, of late nights spent standing in Brittany’s doorway and Brittany doing the exact same thing she is now. It was more intimate then. Brittany would kiss her forehead after she’d pushed her hair from her face. She would clutch onto the lapels of Santana’s coat and pull her closer before she fastened the last button. Their noses would push together and Santana would feel warm enough to last the whole way home. A gentle hand would hold her cheek and stroke it softly with a thumb. There would be so much love in blue eyes that Santana didn’t want to leave.

 

And, every time, Brittany would say the same thing as she pulled the hat onto her head, tugging it almost until it covered her eyes. She’d make sure it was over her ears and then smile so softly that it almost wasn’t a smile anymore—it was something else, more perfect and nameless—before a hand cupped one ear and a nose nuzzled into the other.

 

“That’s better,” she’d whisper and Santana’s skin would be warm all over. For a moment longer, she’d feel like she was under the same warmth of Brittany’s bed, her blankets, her body. “We don’t want your little ears to get cold, do we?”

 

Santana would shake her head and move closer. Her arms would wrap around a familiar waist. She’d laugh when kisses were overenthusiastically pressed against her face. They’d kiss longingly for fifteen more minutes before Santana left.

 

And this moment, right now, feels so different, but so similar at the same time, that Santana just stares at Brittany and remains silent.

 

Fingers toy with the hat, making sure her ears are covered. Two hands cup her ears after and Brittany smiles at her so softly, so reverently, that it feels like something else altogether.

 

“We better hurry,” Brittany whispers and, just like that, she lets go.

 

The moment feels entirely too lacking of everything it should be, and Santana puffs out a breath before following.

 

She feels like she’s left something behind the whole way there.

 

//

 

They’re lucky the store is open but it’s mostly empty. The three lone cashiers jump when they walk through the door and stare at them like they’re crazy, covered from head to toe in residual snow.

 

Brittany grabs one of the carts by the door and dumps her pack onto the end of it before taking off her coat. She looks at Santana and Santana just jolts and follows, putting her coat with it, taking the cart when Brittany urges her to. She takes another cart after that and speeds off down the aisle without another word.

 

Santana follows, looking over at Brittany as she pulls up a grocery list on her phone. She waits silently for some sort of instruction and is happy when Brittany turns to her and asks her to find things. She spends the next hour walking around the store getting things to put in Brittany’s cart and it’s probably a good thing. If she was in charge, she’d forget everything they need and the cart would be filled with booze.

 

Plus, it gets her away from the look in Brittany’s eye and the weird falling feeling she gets when she sees Brittany sleepily walking around the grocery store in her NYU sweatshirt.

 

A million things rush through her mind and she does end up filling the cart with booze but she thinks it’s just as necessary as toilet paper and milk.

 

It might be the only thing that gets her through this snowstorm.

 

//

 

The walk back to their apartment feels longer but it’s actually shorter. Santana guesses it’s probably because of the exhaustion of having to last almost twenty-four hours on a four hour nap and the load they had to take back with them.

 

They collapse onto the couches when they get in but only stay there for a minute or two before moving to the kitchen. It takes them an hour to unpack and put away their groceries and Santana’s sure they’ve never actually really gone grocery shopping before. They usually just buy what they need when they need it but now their fridge is full and things keep falling out of their pantry. On their kitchen table is a pile of DVDs and an array of alcohol mixed with a _lot_ of candy.

 

They’ve got about enough food for a month and Santana wonders if they went too far.

 

She collapses onto the couch and groans, her eyes closing just as Brittany falls onto the couch adjoined from her.

 

“Are you hungry?” Brittany asks and it could be five minutes or an hour later, Santana doesn’t even know. “It’s almost dinner time.”

 

Santana’s head turns to the side and she blinks slowly at Brittany. If she’s honest, she kind of feels sick.

 

“Are you?” she asks instead of answering.

 

Brittany swallows dryly a few times before shaking her head. “No.”

 

“Me either,” Santana replies and she’s not sure why she’s smiling. “I’m really, really tired,” she whispers.

 

“Me too,” Brittany’s eyes flutter and Santana’s already shifting to ready herself to get back up.

 

It takes almost every ounce of strength she has left but she pulls herself up and stands. She reaches her hand out for Brittany and pulls her up too. They wordlessly stare at each other for a second before they part and Santana as soon as their eyes catch Santana forgets what she’s doing. A blush rises up her cheeks and her limbs freeze up.

 

Brittany must notice because she squeezes her hand and smiles at her softly.

 

“Goodnight, Santana,” she whispers.

 

Santana nods and stares at her hand when Brittany lets go and heads for her room.

 

“Night, Britt,” she says but everything still feels wrong.

 

She’s too tired to figure it out so she heads to her bedroom.

 

It takes her longer than she thinks to fall asleep.

 

//

 

She calls their boss the next morning, probably earlier than she should.

 

It doesn’t really matter. Santana knows that she’s been working at that bar for so many years that she doesn’t go to bed until noon regardless of whether she’s working or not.

 

“You got stuck here too, huh Lopez?” is how she greets Santana when she picks up. It makes Santana stop for a second and her boss laughs before continuing. “Why else would you be calling me at 8am on Christmas Eve?”

 

The information throws Santana off. She’d completely forgotten what day it was but it’s not the first time, not since she moved to New York.

 

“I was just wondering if you needed anyone at the bar,” she eventually says. “I mean, Britt and I are stuck here and we’ve got nothing better to do.”

 

It earns her a laugh. “Lopez, you live in Brooklyn. The bridges are still closed and the snow is so thick that it looks like Frosty the Snowman just took a dump on the city. The bar’s closed and it will be until New Years’ Eve at the earliest. Have a damn rest.”

 

“But I mean…” Santana says, trailing off when she realizes she doesn’t have anything else to say.

 

A sigh and then the click of a tongue sounds through the speaker. “Just _talk_ to her,” she chuckles airily. “Whatever bullshit is happening between you, she’s your best friend…”

 

The words shock Santana at first. She doesn’t know what to say because she didn’t really think that anyone at the bar had noticed the weird energy between her and Brittany the past couple of weeks. They’d obviously both been trying hard to make things appear normal. But then, she guesses, it’s this woman’s job to make sure the girls who dance on her bar are okay, that they’re safe and that there’s no bad blood between anyone. She was bound to pick something up.

 

What Santana says is weirdly not the thing she wanted to. “She wasn’t always _just_ my best friend,” she whispers.

 

The laugh that crackles through the line is one of the harder things to listen to. It makes her wince.

 

“No shit,” she chuckles. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing this twenty years. I’m no dumbass and you two are fucking obvious.” The line goes quiet. Santana’s sure that she’s waiting for a reply but Santana doesn’t have one. “Shit, Lopez, just talk to her, kiss her, fuck her, whatever. Do _something_ but do it before December 31 st or I’ll kill you.”

 

The line cuts off and Santana just feels more confused.

 

//

 

It’s 11am by the time that Brittany wakes up. She still looks tired and Santana watches her quietly as she wanders around the apartment, aimlessly attempting to remember what it is that people do in the morning.

 

Her fingers scratch at her head as she walks into the kitchen and Santana listens as she opens all the cupboards. Something falls out of the pantry and a low groan sounds as she bends down to pick it up. A bowl hits the counter a few seconds later and Santana finds herself smiling a little at the sound of cereal being poured into it.

 

She comes out a few moments later, her bowl piled high and one eye still refusing to open. She drops into her seat and then a whimper leaves her a second later.

 

“I forgot to get coffee,” she mumbles and Santana acts without thinking and gets up to get it for her. She puts in the right amount of sugar and milk and gives it to her without a word. Brittany whimpers again and takes it quickly. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

 

As she drinks it, her eyes start to open and it’s totally worth it.

 

//

Within an hour and a half of being awake, Brittany’s doing her homework.

 

She sits on the floor in the gap between the couch and coffee table and Santana has no idea what she’s doing. All Santana knows is that Brittany’s laptop is in front of her, her cameras are beside her and she’s surrounded by textbooks, engrossed by whatever they say.

 

She also knows that she’s bored. She’s really fucking bored and totally envious of Brittany for actually having something to do.

 

She never thought that she’d miss having homework but now, when the service on the TV is completely out and the electricity keeps cutting off every time she manages to get to the good parts in movies, she really does. She wishes that she had chapters of Freud and Simone de Beauvoir to read again because at least she’d be wondering what the fuck they were talking about rather than trying not to stare at Brittany.

 

But she doesn’t so she’s stuck with being privy to this new, learned and driven Brittany who’s content to sit quietly with a pencil and a photography book, scribbling down notes.

 

“What are you reading?” she asks after too long of being intrigued by the furrow in Brittany’s brow and the part in her lips.

 

Brittany struggles to tear her eyes away from her book and barely glances up at her. Her elbows rest on the coffee table and her chin rests in her hand. She moves a finger to keep her place before looking up at Santana again.

 

“Just an article,” Brittany says almost thoughtfully and Santana has to swallow down too many feelings.

 

They’re feelings of Sunday mornings and newspapers with too many sections, over-sized beds with too many blankets and pillows, a radio playing something old and soothing. They’re feelings of things she’s not going to have anymore.

 

“What’s it about?” she asks to stop herself from pondering that thought any further.

 

Brittany blinks slowly and it’s endearing and electric how she slowly glances back up again. “This guy who took pictures of this gang in Brooklyn in 1959. Everything looks so different.”

 

Brittany doesn’t show her the book but Santana moves to the edge of her chair to get a better look across the table.

 

“What’s it for?” she asks.

 

Brittany turns the page. “I have to do a project next semester and one of the topics you could pick was visual changes of New York City but I wanted to see if I could do something different, I don’t know…”

 

She shrugs and Santana’s not sure what to say. She lays back on the couch just as the TV comes back on for the fifth time. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when it gets dark.

 

“Whatever you pick, I’m sure it’ll be great, Britt,” she says and Brittany just hums her appreciation with a smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth.

 

//

 

When Brittany decides to take a break from studying and stretches out on the couch for a nap, Santana decides to call every friend she has in New York to see if they want to meet up.

 

She sits in the window seat in her bedroom, a cigarette clutched between her fingers, watching as the snow slows to a gentle flurry, and listens as every single person she calls gives her a reason why they can’t meet up.

 

And sure, it’s Christmas Eve and it’s snowing and every mode of transport in the city is still forced to a halt, but she thought that people had more gumption, more drive, especially when offered free booze.

 

She sighs and stubs out her cigarette before flicking it out of the window. Ungracefully, she flops down on her bed and closes her eyes as she tries to think of something to do to get her out of this apartment, away from Britt, and back into the realm of the sane.

 

Every time she looks at her, she feels strange. A mix of confusion, guilt and hurt washes over her and she doesn’t know why. Nothing feels right. Everything feels out of place and she can’t figure out why. Their almost kiss hangs over her head like a dark, gloomy cloud waiting to rain because she knows the minute she mentions it or thinks about it, a torrential downpour of things she doesn’t want to deal with are going to wash down on her. Who knows what will happen this time? Who knows what she’ll lose?

 

When she opens her eyes, everything is pitch black around her.

 

“Britt?” she calls nervously. She can’t even see her hand in front of her face. She swallows when Brittany doesn’t answer and rolls over until she’s facing the living room. “Britt?” she calls a little louder. “Britt, wake up.”

 

Everything’s so quiet that she can hear the moment that Brittany wakes up. She breathes in deeply, air releasing slowly from her lungs a second later. She shifts onto her back and groans, rubbing her eyes before there’s a pause. Frantic shuffling follows it, quick and desperate, and Santana narrows her eyes in confusion.

 

“Santana?” Brittany says and she sounds terrified. “Oh my god, Santana, I think I’m blind!”

 

Before she can say anything, Santana hears a thud and a groan through the shuffling and stops entirely when she realizes what it is.

 

“Britt, did you just fall off the couch?” she asks but all she gets in response is desperate shuffling and terrified whimpering.

 

“Santana, I’m blind,” Brittany whimpers. “I can’t see. I can’t see anything. Oh my god, I should have listened to that old lady in health class who said masturbation makes you blind! I can’t see…”

 

A smile tugs at Santana’s mouth and part of her wants to make this go on a little longer but she can’t. She presses her palms to her forehead and takes a deep breath to keep the smile from her voice.

 

“Britt, the power’s out.”

 

Everything goes quiet as well as dark. Santana listens carefully, a smirk on her face as she waits for whatever comes next. It only takes a few seconds but it still makes her grin.

 

“Thank crap for that,” Brittany breathes and Santana can imagine her, sprawled out in the same spot she was sitting earlier doing her work, gasping with relief. She smiles a little more because the image is adorable. Brittany sighs. “That was scary. Do you know how long it’s been out?”

 

“Like… less than ten minutes, I guess,” Santana tells her. “I was resting my eyes and when I opened them it was out.” She pauses and waits for a response that doesn’t come. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Brittany mutters and Santana can hear the embarrassment in her voice. “I fell on my blanket, so…” She trails off awkwardly. “Did you nap too?”

 

Santana shakes her head even though Brittany can’t see and swallows. “No, no… I decided to call some people and see if they wanted to meet up but I didn’t want to wake you up.”

 

“Are you going out?”

 

At the sound of disappointment in Brittany’s voice, Santana’s smile falls from her face. She clears her throat awkwardly. “Everyone’s out of town,” she says. “Or with family, or stuck in the snow… it was kind of pointless.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“Yeah,” Santana breathes.

 

Things become awkward fast but they’re saved quickly by the electricity coming back on. The TV, the radio in the kitchen, all the lights that were on before, all come back on at once and it’s kind of overwhelming after the peace they’d just been in.

 

Santana gets up and goes to the kitchen to turn the radio off before she moves over to the living room. Her smile returns to her face when she finds Brittany still sprawled out on the floor, her blanket tangled around her legs and her hair all over the place. She turns off the TV before staring down at her fondly. A smile tugs at her lips but Brittany just looks at her with parted lips and serious eyes. Her cheeks are a little pink and she plays with the ends of her hair before speaking.

 

“The snow looks like it’s stopped. Do you… want to go do laundry with me?” Brittany asks. Santana frowns and tilts her head to the side, not quite sure why she looks so nervous. “Do you want to go do laundry and then maybe go explore in the snow with me?”

 

Santana takes a deep breath because, all of a sudden, it feels like her lungs are failing. She stares down at Brittany for a second longer before moving to the other couch and sitting down. Brittany instantly sits up to look at her.

 

“You don’t have to or anything,” she goes on. “I wanted to go take pictures of the city in the snow for this project and I just thought that… you’re bored and everything… It would be nice to have some company.”

 

Santana looks at her, from her blue eyes to the way that her hands clutch at the blanket wrapped around her waist. It feels like certain parts inside of her are melting, becoming liquid and warm. She takes another deep breath and manages to nod.

 

“Sure,” she says quietly. “Of course.”

 

//

 

Williamsburg is kind of pretty in the snow in the dark.

 

The snow is practically up to their knees and it’s freezing but, everything looks so different from how it normally is that it’s kind of jarring. The snow is so thick that it forms little slopes over cars and sidewalks. Snow drifts line the streets and everything is so perfect and white that it almost doesn’t feel real. It’s weird not to see Williamsburg without it’s dirty sidewalks and trash-filled gutters.

 

It makes Santana smiles and she helps Brittany carry their laundry to the Laundromat with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

 

She’s kind of surprised when they get to their usual Laundromat and it’s actually open. There nobody in it but the lights are on and the neon sign in the window flashes that it’s open, the sign on the door reminding everyone that it’s open twenty-four hours a day, every single day of the year.

 

It’s just another reminder of why Santana loves this city so much: it caters for everyone, even the crazies and the insomniacs.

 

They step inside and the first thing Brittany does is throw her huge bag of clothes atop one of the washers before heading for the jukebox that sits in the corner. It’s the same thing she does every time they come here and it’s the fact that they have a jukebox is the only reason they picked this Laundromat to begin with. She puts one of her quarters into it and picks something fast that Santana can’t remember the name. She spins her way back to the washers and opens up two of them before sorting her clothes into each one.

 

Just like normal, Santana picks the two washers opposite Brittany’s, just so that she can watch her.

 

“It should snow more often if it means we don’t have to wait for washers,” Brittany comments and Santana smiles.

 

She can think of better reasons.

 

//

 

When Santana hears the click of a camera, she looks up in confusion.

 

Her eyes peer over the top of her magazine and she narrows her eyes as she tries to find the source. Her cheeks pink when she finds the lens of Brittany’s camera pointing at her.

 

“I thought you were taking pictures of the city,” she says shyly and she’s glad when Brittany’s face flushes for a second.

 

Her shoulders shrug and she returns the camera to her face so that she can look through the viewfinder.

 

“I got bored,” she says and Santana doesn’t move from where she is, just looks directly at the camera from over the top of her magazine as Brittany presses her finger to the shutter-release. “And, with that face, you look grumpy enough to be a New Yorker.”

 

The words make Santana smile and she’s not ready for the next click of the shutter. Her eyes aren’t watching and her smile is hurting her face.

 

Brittany giggles and Santana just keeps laughing as she hears the shutter click and wind, click and wind, over and over again until—

 

“Beautiful,” Brittany comments and it makes Santana stop. Her face relaxes and her eyes open. She looks over at Brittany to see her peer out from behind the camera for a second before she disappear behind it again, snapping away as Santana looks over at her in confusion.

 

Brittany’s washer finishes a few seconds later and Santana feels so suddenly overwhelmed that she needs to leave.

 

“I’m going for a smoke,” she whispers, only just noticing the disappointed look on Brittany’s face before she heads for the door.

 

She stands outside in the cold and sees as Brittany switches her laundry for her. She smokes more than she should and watches how Brittany lifts her clothes into one of the laundry carts before taking it over to the dryers and reverently putting everything inside. It makes her turn away and once she does, it feels like the hardest thing to turn back.

 

She keeps smoking until she sees a flash. She glances up to the sky to see if it’s lightening but all she sees is snow clouds. She sees another flash and she looks up and down the street before turning around.

 

She’s not ready for how her stomach drops or how her chest starts to ache. It’s such a strangely familiar feeling and she just watches as Brittany stands there, her camera lowered just slightly, looking at her. She feels like she’s really being looked at, like she’s as see-through as the glass in front of her, and it makes her stop and look back because she doesn’t think she can do anything else.

 

Brittany smiles at her and Santana swallows and bundles herself up tighter. She watches Brittany and when she speaks, it’s not hard to read what the instruction that she gives.

 

The camera rises back to Brittany’s face and Santana does as Brittany asks.

 

She smiles.

 

//

 

They fold their laundry in silence.

 

Brittany puts all her stuff inside her pack and Santana piles hers neatly into an old lady plastic Laundromat bag that she stole from Rachel. Brittany glances at her intermittently but Santana pretends not to notice. She keeps her eyes on her stuff and listens to whatever crappy pop song plays on the radio.

 

“Oh, hey, this is yours…”

 

When she looks up, she finds Brittany holding out one of the t-shirts that she goes to bed in sometimes. She takes it quietly and puts it in her bag just as quick. Brittany watches her shamelessly, folding the same pair of sweats over and over again.

 

“I don’t know why we don’t just wash all our laundry together,” Brittany comments quietly. Santana stops what she’s doing and looks up at her quickly. Brittany’s cheeks are pink. “I mean, what’s the point in doing four half loads when we could just do two big ones…” She trails off and finally looks away. “It just makes more sense…”

 

Santana studies her quietly and she’s not sure how to explain that _why_ to Brittany. She’s not sure how to explain how mixing laundry is less like roommates and more like girlfriends. It breaks down boundaries that they need, blurs lines that Santana’s starting to be unable to see. It makes things harder than they already are and Santana doesn’t know how to cope with sharing the big things like living together, let alone sharing loads of laundry.

 

“There’s less sorting,” she comments idly, hoping that puts an end to it.

 

Brittany stops and her face changes. Her cheeks pale then pink.

 

“Sure,” she says and that’s it.

 

//

 

“Are you hungry?” Brittany asks her when they’re stood outside the Laundromat, tugging on their coats and making sure everything’s securely in place.

 

Santana turns to her and peers at her through the thin gap between her hat and her scarf. Brittany watches her for a second before she shrugs.

 

“I heard that there’s a diner that refuses to close whatever weather it is,” Brittany tells her. “Apparently they’re trying to like… beat a record or something. I don’t know, but I know that I’m hungry and I really want a burger.” She pauses. “Would you like to get dinner with me?”

 

It sounds so much like a date even though Santana knows that it isn’t. It can’t be. It’s just dinner and she is pretty hungry. 

 

She swallows and worries her lip before nodding. Brittany smiles brightly and then reaches forward to grab for her, pulling her back towards their apartment.

 

//

 

Brittany leaves her outside on the street while she runs their laundry bags back inside before bounding back outside a few seconds later. She’s fighting a new film into the back of her camera and Santana grabs her to slow her down so that she doesn’t drop anything.

 

They walk along the street, the snow just started to fall slowly again and all Santana can hear is the click of Brittany’s camera and the scrunch of the snow beneath their feet. She has no idea what she’s doing but she’s not sure she cares when Brittany is practically skipping through neighborhoods clicking pictures of the most random things.

 

That’s until she starts getting bored and begins pointing the camera in Santana’s direction again.

 

She runs ahead of her, before stopping fifteen yards ahead of her and snapping pictures of her, and then stands behind her once Santana’s walked past and follows her up the street. Santana looks over her shoulder to see if she’s following but finds herself smiling when Brittany just snaps another picture of her.

 

It probably takes them twice as long to get to the diner, and Brittany’s probably gone through about ten rolls of film, but it feels nice.

 

Without anyone on the streets, it feels like the city is just for them.

 

//

 

The diner is open but it’s empty apart from the old couple behind the counter.

 

They jump the minute that they walk in and rush to seat them, looking almost happy to finally see another human face.

 

It doesn’t stop them from yelling at them for being out in the snow. They lead them to the booth in the back far corner looking out onto the street and everything’s still so perfect and white that you can’t even tell.

 

They order more food than they should but it’s eleven at night on Christmas Eve. They make small talk about how nice the place is and Brittany talks to the owners about her cameras. She manages to get a picture of the pair of them standing behind the counter once she finds out they’ve been here over fifty years.

 

The minute she sits down, she’s taking another picture of Santana.

 

Santana just rolls her eyes and lets her, half-smiling into the camera as she rests her chin in her hand.

 

“Why’d you keep taking pictures of me if you’re supposed to be taking pictures of the city?” Santana asks when Brittany’s replacing another film.

 

Brittany glances up and her fingers work fast even though she isn’t looking. “You’re _in_ the city, aren’t you?”

 

Santana smirks and rolls her eyes again. “But I’m not _from_ the city.”

 

Brittany finally clicks the back closed on her camera and sets it beside her before leaning forward on her forearms. “ _Exactly_ ,” she says softly. “In this weather, you’re the perfect representation of this city. You’re a small town girl standing in the middle of a magical and mysterious place waiting for her dreams to come true.”

 

Santana cocks an eyebrow at her. Her smile grows. “Until the snow melts and I’m a small town girl with freezing cold dirty feet and a bruised ass from falling over.”

 

Brittany laughs out loud and it’s her turn to roll her eyes. Her smile is soft and Santana watches it with intrigue, trying to find the secret that lies on Brittany’s lips.

 

“That was a beautiful metaphor before you ruined it,” she chuckles. She sighs heavily before resting her own chin on her hand, mirroring Santana.

 

Santana stares at her, suddenly aware of how close she is. She doesn’t move, just shrugs and smiles. “Just keeping it real,” she comments.

 

Brittany smiles and shifts her head to the side. Santana almost feels like she’s being studied.

 

“You always do,” Brittany mutters and in three words, Santana isn’t even sure if they’re talking about the same thing anymore.

 

Her brow narrows but then the old clock behind the counter chimes midnight. It’s an awakening. It feels like things should be changing because of it. She watches Brittany glance at the owners before she looks back and shrugs. Her hand shifts over the top of the table but Santana doesn’t notice until the ends of Brittany’s fingers graze her own.

 

“Merry Christmas, Santana,” Brittany whispers almost silently.

 

Santana doesn’t move, just stares at Brittany as their fingers touch. She has to ignore the leaping in her stomach, the hammering in her chest and the sudden feeling of familiarity that overcomes her before she can speak.

 

Her breath rattles as she does.

 

“Merry Christmas, Britt Britt,” she says without thinking.

 

The nickname doesn’t go unnoticed, not after over year without saying it, and Brittany keeps looking at her until Santana’s sure that her blue eyes are brighter and more perfect than the glittering snow outside.

 

//

 

It’s almost 2am by the time that they get back to the apartment.

 

They’re both freezing, shaking from head to toe and Santana just sits on the couch and doesn’t move, too scared that she’ll die from hypothermia if she takes off her coat.

 

Brittany moves about the apartment around her, from the kitchen to her bedrooms, to the closet by the bathroom door. She turns up the heating and Santana almost bursts into tears when she hears the tea kettle on the stove. She’s kind of confused when Brittany comes out from her bedroom with her blankets and pillows. She’s dressed in her pajamas and wearing her NYU sweatshirt and she taps Santana on the shoulder as she passes by to turn on all the lights on their Christmas tree.

 

“Go put your jammies on and bring your covers out here,” Brittany tells her and Santana just looks at her, confused.

 

“Why?”

 

Brittany just looks at her weirdly before shrugging. “It’s time to open presents. It’s Christmas morning.”

 

Santana feels stupid and out of her comfort zone all at once. In her family, presents come after church and brunch. Or, rather, after church and when her parents come back from brunch at her abuela’s, as it’s been for the past two years.

 

With a wash of sadness, Santana’s momentarily glad for the snow. At least it means she’s here and not sat alone in her parents’ living room.

 

At least she’s here, with Brittany, learning what Christmas morning means for her.

 

She gets up slowly and when she does, Brittany’s there in front of her. She strips her of her coat and urges her to her bedroom.

 

Santana goes and watches as Brittany busies herself around the living room, making new traditions.

 

//

 

The pile of presents under their tree is small but it’s bigger than it was before Santana went into her bedroom. She clutches the presents in her arms to her chest a little tighter before she steps over to the tree and sets them down with the rest.

 

Brittany’s in the kitchen. Santana can hear her fussing around with something and she clutches her blank comforter around her shoulders as she follows the sound of her.

 

“Britt?” she says quietly. Brittany turns quickly to look at her. “Do you need any help?”

 

Brittany shakes her head, an endearing look of determination worried across her features. “Just go sit down,” she says. “I’m making hot chocolate.”

 

Santana nods as thoughts she shouldn’t have rush through her head. She swallows and wills them away, desperate to enjoy this, no matter how new and strange it is. She does as she’s told and sits down in her normal seat. _A Miracle on 34 th Street _plays on the TV and Santana becomes engrossed in it for a few minutes before Brittany comes in from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands.

 

“I was going to make tea,” she comments. “But then I realized hot chocolate is better.”

 

Santana smiles and takes the cup offered to her. She thanks her softly and waits for instruction, watching as Brittany sets herself up in her seat before she shakes her head and nods to the floor.

 

“We won’t be able to reach our presents otherwise,” she realizes.

 

Santana follows her and sits beside her in front of the tree. She’s never done this before. She’s never had anyone to do this with before. She’s too used to the pile of presents waiting for her on the coffee table when she gets home from her abuela’s. She was never allowed near the Christmas tree.

 

“I have to pass your presents to you and you have to pass your presents to me,” Brittany explains and even though their only gifts are from Rachel, Kurt, Blaine and the other girls from work, Santana leans forward and finds the most unfamiliar present with Brittany’s name on before passing it to her.

 

Brittany grins and clutches the present excitedly.

 

“Merry Christmas,” she says again and Santana doesn’t really care about the presents so much anymore.

 

Brittany’s face is better.

 

//

 

She gets a new dress from Kurt and Brittany gets a watch. They get brand new hats, scarves and gloves from Blaine while Rachel gets them each a framed movie poster to decorate the apartment with. They get lots of bath stuff from the girls at work. Brittany gets a few DVDs. There’s a check in a card for each of them from their boss and their eyes widen at them before they look to what presents are left.

 

Santana reaches to find one for Brittany but a hand reaches out to her and stops her, cheeks turning pink as she begins to explain.

 

“They’re yours,” she whispers. Santana’s stomach drops because she didn’t really want to assume anything but she’s glad anyway. “There’s—there’s one from last year in there too.”

 

She thinks she hears Brittany’s throat catch. She looks away and pushes the pile beside her towards Brittany in response.

 

“Same,” she whispers.

 

It’s hard not to notice how Brittany’s face changes, how she looks scared and excited at the same time. She swallows and moistens her lips before reaching over to the pile of gifts beneath the tree and grabbing one.

 

She pushes it towards Santana and Santana takes it carefully. It’s covered in polar bear wrapping paper and she toys with the corner as she slowly starts to open it.

 

Brittany giggles. “Just rip it,” she instructs and Santana smiles before ripping it as carefully as she can.

 

Whatever it is is hidden in a box and she glances up at Brittany before she looks inside. It’s a frame and when she pulls it out and turns it over, it’s filled with pictures of their friends, of Santana’s parents, of her abuela, of them when they were together.

 

Her eyes feel glassy the minute she looks down upon it.

 

“When we used to Skype, I always noticed how you didn’t have any pictures on your walls at school and I know…” Santana looks up when Brittany trails off, not prepared to see how her eyes are wet and glassy too. “I know that when I—when I miss people… the worst thing ever is not being able to look around me and remember their faces so I decided to make it for you.”

 

Santana runs her hands over the glass, admiring the pictures. She hasn’t seen a lot of them and she wonders if Brittany took them special, if the smile are especially for her. Her fingers stop at the familiar faces of her family and she wants to cry but she’s determined not to.

 

“It’s perfect, Britt,” she whispers. Brittany smiles.

 

“I asked your mom for pictures forever ago,” Brittany tells her softly. “They were some of the first pictures I got, apart from the ones I already had, obviously… but there were some people missing and I know that you’re not at school anymore, and I know you pretend you don’t care, but I know that you miss everyone still, so…”

 

Santana glances up at her and nods. “I love it, Britt.”

 

Brittany breathes out and smiles. “I’m glad.”

 

Santana holds onto it for a few more minutes before reaching for the large box at the bottom of the pile. She pushes it towards Brittany and swallows as she waits for her to open it.

 

Brittany just looks at it for a few seconds before she reaches for the newly rewrapped bow atop the box. She pulls on it gently before lifting up the lid and her eyes narrow when she sees everything.

 

Brittany takes out the new flannel pajamas and the underwear. She sets the teddy bear on her knee and then puts the new thick socks in her lap. Her hands run over patchwork quilt left behind in the box before she tugs it out and rests it over her lap. She traces over each square and Santana ignores how Brittany notices that every single square is different, how it somehow relates to Brittany. She doesn’t mention how she got it made especially, how she spent weeks finding each square of fabric before finding someone to put it together.

 

“I don’t…” Brittany whispers in confusion.

 

Santana laughs and shakes her head. She shrugs like it’s nothing.

 

“You get cold at night in the winter,” she whispers in explanation before shaking her head. “I don’t like it when you’re cold.”

 

It’s the most honest thing she’s said in a while and it makes Brittany gasp. Her hands press against the squares and Santana wipes away the first tear that drips down her face while she isn’t looking. It’ll be the only tear the falls.

 

Brittany’s breathing deep when she finally glances back up. “It’s beautiful,” she nods and there’s a quiver in her voice. “Thank you.”

 

Santana shrugs even though she feels a weight lift from her chest. Brittany’s blue eyes are glassy with tears and her smile looks like it’s struggling to stay on her face. She looks away quickly and runs her fingers back over the quilt in her lap. Santana watches her carefully and sees when Brittany reaches a finger up to her face to wipe something away. She breathes in deeply because of it but ignores it, worried for what it means.

 

She’s glad when Brittany lets out a laugh and reaches under the tree.

 

“Here,” she laughs. “Here’s your present for this year.”

 

Santana takes the box she’s offered nervously and sets it in front of her. Brittany looks at her softly and cuddles the teddy bear on her knee to her chest. It calms Santana enough to reach forward and pull at the ribbon until it comes away before lifting the top of the box. She laughs when she sees what’s sitting inside and finds Brittany grinning when she looks up.

 

“You got me NYU stuff?” Santana asks her around a chuckle, even though she knows that she’s going to wear this t-shirt until there’s holes at the seams and stains that will never come out. She knows that she’ll be finding this cap at the back of her closet for years, until the sun has dyed it lighter and the stitching’s started to come undone.

 

Brittany shrugs and smiles. “I know we’re not cheerleaders anymore but, it’s my school and I just… I don’t know. I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

 

Santana nods in semi-understanding and slips the cap onto her head anyway. “What’s the nickname for someone at NYU anyway?”

 

Brittany almost puffs her chest out proudly. “We’re Violets.”

 

“So I’m a Violet now?”

 

Brittany narrows her eyes. “An honorary one.”

 

Santana’s eyes widen. “Wow.”

 

She continues to look at the t-shirt in her lap, running her fingers over the lettering. She feels branded almost, labeled. The only tie she has to NYU is Brittany. For her, NYU _means_ Brittany and with their letters emblazoned on this shirt she feels like she’s being labeled as Brittany’s. It’s a ridiculous feeling because she’s sure it’s just supposed to be a joke. Brittany isn’t labeling her. It’s just a shirt and a cap.

 

When Brittany tugs the shirt away and tosses it aside, it’s almost like Brittany can tell she’s thinking too much. She rolls her eyes and pushes the box at Santana. “That isn’t even really your present,” she mutters. “Look in the box.”

 

Santana does. It feels like there’s nothing left in the box until they reach the edge and she notices that there’s a gap where she can fit her fingers and lift out the bottom. Soon she sees that there’s something square and thin wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom of the box. It’s a familiar shape and her eyes narrow as she pushes the paper away and looks down at what’s inside.

 

Her heart lurches in her chest.

 

“I was walking around during lunch while I was at school one day and I found this old record shop,” Brittany tells her quietly. She pries the tissue paper out of Santana’s hands until she can see what’s in her hands better, flip it over and read the back. When she does, she feels like she knows it by heart. “I know it’s the only one you don’t have and it’s signed by Stevie Nicks.”

 

Santana nods because she can see that. She can see the scrawl of her name under her picture on the back. She can barely look at it because this album changed her life. It fixed her. She runs her finger over the track titles at the bottom and remembers sitting on a stool in a choir room, nearly three years ago, singing a song that perfectly encapsulated her feelings. She remembers the first time she ever heard it. Her life hasn’t felt the same since.

 

Brittany’s hand reaches out to touch her hand. Santana lets out a laugh.

 

“The first copy I ever listened to of this was my abuelo’s,” she tells Brittany softly. “It didn’t even fit in with the rest of his record collection and I didn’t get to listen to it until after he’d died. It was the only time I was allowed to touch his records but my abuela let me because she said it was better than the music kids listen to nowadays.” She pauses and turns the record over and over in her hands. “I think I must have been bored or something… because I can’t remember why I decided I wanted to listen to them then when he’d been dead for over a year. But I remember laying on the floor in my their living room while abuela was making dinner and my whole life being changed.”

 

Brittany’s thumb sweeps over the back of her hand and it’s only then that Santana realizes that she’s crying. She swipes her hands over her face and shakes her head.

 

“I have it on my computer but it sounds so much better on vinyl,” Santana looks up at Brittany and smiles. She doesn’t know how to tell Brittany how good it feels to finally have a physical copy of it in her hands after so long. “Thank you, Britt.”

 

Brittany smiles. “You’re welcome.” Santana nods and keeps looking at it. She startles a little when Brittany chuckles and pokes her in the side. She looks up. “Can I have my present now?” she asks cheekily.

 

Santana rolls her eyes and pushes the rest of the pile towards her. She’s still looking down at her new old copy of Fleetwood Mac’s self-titled album as Brittany begins ripping through the paper. She doesn’t look up until the movement stops and, when she does, she sees how disappointed Brittany looks. She’s just staring at her gifts.

 

“It’s photo paper,” she comments around a forced smile. “And—and developing chemicals.”

 

Santana doesn’t say anything but she feels her mouth quirk into a smile. “Yeah? Do you like it?”

 

Brittany nods because she would never be ungrateful. “It’s great. It’ll be really useful once I’m back at school.”

 

Santana watches her carefully before licking her lips and speaking. “I was thinking that maybe you could teach me how everything works this afternoon,” she says.

 

Brittany looks at her for a minute before her face switches into something else and her face falls a little. She shifts on the spot. “That would be awesome but we don’t have a darkroom.”

 

Her bottom lip pouts out and Santana has to fight away her smile again. She clears her throat before pausing.

 

“Well, what if I could do something about that?” she asks. Brittany looks up at her and narrows her eyes. Santana looks back at her and tries to keep a straight face. It’s hard but she manages to do it until she stands and holds out her hand. “Come on,” she says as Brittany takes it. “I’ve got something to show you.”

 

She leads her into her room and Brittany sees it quickly. She gasps and lets go of Santana’s hand before practically running over to the pile of unwrapped gifts that sit on Santana’s dresser.

 

“Are you _serious_?” Brittany asks as she plays with the buttons on what Santana’s learned is called an enlarger. She looks through all the bottles of chemicals sitting in a box on the floor in front of it and shakes her head as she turns to Santana in disbelief. “How did you… I mean… How are we…” She shakes herself. “ _How?_ ”

 

Santana shrugs. “I was at an interview in the Bronx and I walked past a thrift store and this old lady was trying to sell it to them and he was trying to convince her that he’d give her like… five bucks because no one wanted darkroom stuff anymore. And obviously this old lady has never met a Brooklyn hipster but I wasn’t going to let her get robbed by this asshole, so I told her and offered her some cash and she took it.” Brittany looks at her with wide eyes and she shrugs. “I may have had to pay a ridiculous amount for the cab fare back but it was worth it.”

 

Brittany makes a noise that’s almost a squeak of joy. She shakes her head and grins.

 

“I’ve had it hidden at Rachel and Kurt’s loft for a month,” Santana laughs. “They told me I was crazy but I said that having a windowless bathroom has to be good for something.”

 

Brittany laughs and her eyes get big and happy. She bounces on the spot a little. “Can we set it up now?” she asks.

 

Santana almost wants to say yes but there’s a tug in her eyes that demands sleep.

 

“How about when we wake up?” she says. “We can set it up after breakfast once we’ve showered and everything then we can play with it all day?”

 

Brittany nods frantically and before Santana knows what’s happening, she’s wrapped in a hug and being squeezed so tightly she can barely breathe.

 

“You always give the best presents,” Brittany whispers and even past the overwhelming feeling of happiness, Santana feels a burn of regret.

 

//

 

Brittany’s too excited to sleep and she somehow manages to get Santana so stay in the living room with her and watch _Elf._

 

Santana gets caught watching Brittany speak along with the film for a while but, somewhere in the middle, she feels her eyes start to get heavy as Brittany becomes quieter.

 

She falls asleep before she can even realize it

 

//

 

When she wakes up, she’s been covered in another blanket and the TV isn’t on anymore.

 

The lights from the Christmas tree twinkle in her eyes and Brittany’s already awake because the other couch is vacant apart from her scrunched up blankets.

 

Christmas songs play from the radio and Santana can smell pancakes. She curls herself into her covers more, just as Brittany wonders into the room carrying a plate and a cup of coffee. She sets it down in front of Santana without a word and it’s nice to have Brittany making her breakfast. Brittany looks good in her apron with her hair tied back. It fits.

 

She joins Santana a few minutes later and Brittany won’t stop talking about her new bathroom darkroom. She produces a scrap of paper from her pocket, scribbled with pencil and covered in drawings that she says she made while she was cooking breakfast. It’s a plan of their bathroom and Santana nods as she explains what needs to be done.

 

Santana finds herself getting excited too.

 

//

 

She showers quickly and gets ready and dress even quicker.

 

Brittany’s already lugging everything into the bathroom when she exits her room and Santana smiles and helps her quickly, listening to the instructions she’s given.

 

They have everything set up soon after and as Brittany covers the doorway with the long, thick curtains Santana bought but never used, Santana feels anticipation well inside of her.

 

They’re lucky that their bathroom isn’t like a matchbox because it means that they can both fit inside. Santana is still creeped out by the red light, though.

 

Once she’s certain that everything’s perfect, Brittany grins and begins to work. There’s a pile of used films sitting on the counter and she grabs a few before grabbing a tank and these things that look like the wheels of wagons.

 

“You’re gonna turn off the red light in a second, okay?” she says and Santana frowns as she grabs a bottle opener and some scissors. “Okay, now,” she says and everything happens quickly. Everything goes black and Santana can hear things happen but can’t tell what they are. She stands there silently until Brittany tells her to turn the light back on. Her eyes struggle to adjust but she soon sees that the used films have been opened and that the reels are gone. Brittany grins. “Time for chemicals.”

 

//

 

It’s kind of cool how everything works.

 

Santana watches with rapt curiosity as Brittany develops each of the films and hangs them to dry on a piece of string tied to their shower curtain rail. They make lunch while they wait for them to dry and then Santana follows her back into the bathroom to prepare the chemicals to make the prints and she has no idea what she’s doing but Brittany does. She cuts down the strips of film and then puts them in this thing and then plays with some dials. Santana has no idea what she’s doing but she rips off strips of paper before turning on a light.

 

When she puts the strip in the chemicals, a picture appears and it looks like it has stripes. Brittany narrows her eyes at it before going back to the enlarger and playing with the dials some more.

 

By the time she’s finished, Brittany has a perfectly printed picture of her sitting in the Laundromat last night.

 

She puts it in more trays of chemicals until she drops it in the water in front of Santana and smiles.

 

Santana looks at it and can’t help but be reminded of Brittany’s genius.

 

It’s a perfect print and, just like every other picture of her that Brittany takes, it’s a perfect her.

 

//

 

Brittany teaches her how to develop camera film.

 

She stands pressed against her in the dark, holding her hands as she guides them to do the right thing, and doesn’t let go until she’s done. It’s the closest and most tactile they’ve been since that night when they almost kissed but it doesn’t feel weird. She feels comfortable and she giggles as her hands stumble and struggle to follow their instructions.

 

It doesn’t even feel weird when Brittany stands close to her while they’re making the prints, her hands guiding Santana’s again. It doesn’t even feel weird that they’re crammed inside the bathroom with all the equipment.

 

And when they’re done, and the bathroom is full of pictures of her face, Santana doesn’t feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t even feel awkward with the fact that Brittany’s taken hundreds of pictures of her, she just smiles.

 

“It looks like a stalkers paradise in here,” she chuckles.

 

Brittany washes her hands and gives her a look. “You wish,” she quips and Santana feels her eyes widen and her brow raise before she laughs out loud.

 

She’s glad that Brittany grins and throws a towel at her a second later. When Brittany begins taking down all the pictures, Santana narrows her eyes because she really wasn’t complaining. She opens her mouth to say something but Brittany must notice her expression because she grins and rolls her eyes fondly.

 

“We have to dry them,” she says softly, nudging her elbow so she helps. Santana does and feels her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Brittany glances at her before smiling. “Then I can wallpaper my walls with your face.”

 

She’s teasing and Santana purposely bumps their elbows together as she adds more to the pile in front of them.

 

A smirk tugs at her lips. “Like you wouldn’t if you had the chance,” she says quietly, glad when Brittany snorts.

 

Their eyes don’t catch but Santana can see her smile out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Duh,” she says and, even as it makes Santana blush harder, it puts her at ease.

 

//

 

They have the stuff to make a proper Christmas dinner, even though they start cooking after it’s dark.

 

They stand hip to hip and prepare everything, talking about everything and nothing in soft voices Santana hasn’t heard in a long time. Christmas songs play quietly in the background and Santana smiles as Brittany hums along.

 

They late but it doesn’t really matter. Santana tries to set their small kitchen table ready to eat but Brittany stops her and takes the table cloth into the living room before laying it over their coffee table. She sets it out properly before putting a cushion on the floor in front of each setting.

 

Brittany pulls out a bottle of champagne and explains that her parents got it for her graduation but she never drank it. She puts it in the fridge while they set the food out and pours it into the same type of glasses they have their water in. Santana giggles and wipes her hand on a dish towel as Brittany comes in with the last of the food.

 

She holds her hand out to help Santana sit down on the floor and Santana lets her. She sits down beside her and Santana feels their feet brush under the table.

 

Santana’s cheeks feel rosy as they talk until way past all the food is gone. They eventually move onto the couches, full to the brim and aching with overindulgence.

 

Santana’s not sure when she falls asleep but, when she wakes up at three am and Brittany’s asleep on the other couch, she doesn’t care that the table is covered in plates.

 

She just grabs two blankets and covers Brittany with one before wrapping herself in the other.

 

Her eyes study familiar features as she lays her head back down to rest and she falls asleep quickly, unsure of sure what’s real and what’s reality.

 

//

 

When she wakes up, she’s sure that she’s still asleep.

 

To say that it’s like her dreams are coming true would be an accurate statement.

 

She’s had this dream many times—many, _many_ times—and they’ve all been at various degrees of innocence.

 

But if she were to rate this on a scale of innocent to not, she’d sat this was a five, straddling boundaries and blurring lines.

 

She wakes up to the sound of music, a low thump of a base that makes her body vibrate awake more than startle her with noise. Her eyes flutter and she’s not sure if what she sees is real. She narrows them and shifts, burrowing her cold nose back under the covers before blinking. What she manages to focus on is worth questioning her consciousness because what she sees isn’t exactly familiar. Not anymore.

 

The table has been cleared of all their plates and has been pushes to the other side of the room while the couch has been pushed towards the other. It leaves a square of space in the middle where Brittany stands, swaying and moving to this music with her eyes closed. And, sure, that’s not exactly something to be scandalized by—more than once has she come home to find Brittany dancing around the apartment—it’s just that she doesn’t often do it in nothing but her underwear and a jean shirt.

 

Too big, thick wool socks hang around her ankles and stretch past her toes and her hair is bright and wild and everywhere. She’s smiling and Santana shamelessly takes advantage of her eyes being closed to stare at her and take her in once she realizes she’s not dreaming. She still pinches herself but that’s mostly to stop herself from doing anything she shouldn’t.

 

Brittany’s hand reaches to push underneath the shirt to scratch at her stomach and it makes it ten times harder.

 

She clears her throat to stop any other noise coming out and, before she can pretend she’s asleep, blue eyes are staring into hers and grinning with happiness.

 

“You’re awake,” Brittany says softly but excitedly. She spins across the room to stand before Santana and reaches for her hands. “Come dance with me.”

 

Santana catches another glance of curved hips that stretch into toned thighs and swallows. She can’t stop herself from thinking about how soft she knows they are. She guesses that old habits die hard.

 

She sits up quickly and gets pulled up even quicker. Brittany pulls her into the middle of the room and reaches over to her computer, connected up to her speakers and clicks a button. Another song comes on and she forces Santana into a spin until they’re front to back.

 

An arm wraps around Santana’s waist and she laughs because there’s nothing else she wants to do at that moment. Her hand reaches to hold onto Brittany’s bare arm and allows herself to be moved to the music. They move in circles and Tubbs runs around their feet in confusion, disturbed from his place beneath the Christmas tree. Brittany giggles at him and reaches to turn up the volume, moving more fluidly as she guides Santana in a twirl around the room.

 

The arm around her waist pushes her shirt up and she can feel the skin of Brittany’s stomach against her back. She takes a deep breath and pushes against the feel, wanting more of it. Dancing with Brittany is as easy as it always is, freeing and full of all the best things. It’s silly and Santana’s smile hurts her face matching Brittany’s.

 

She feels dizzy and high on the most natural feeling in the world. She relaxes into Brittany as their breath comes too fast, their bodies start to give in. Santana feels cradled by Brittany’s body, warmed by her hands and her eyes flutter at whatever the new-old feeling is rushing through her blood. She doesn’t want to move. She doesn’t want to breathe. She just wants to stay like this forever, cradled and held in Brittany’s body, her cheek pressed to Brittany’s with soft hands pressed to her body. She wants Brittany to turn her head so that she’s able to smell comfort and softness and relief.

 

When Brittany does do that, her nose turning pressing against Santana’s ear, Santana doesn’t pull away; she pushes into the feeling of it and blinks slowly.

 

It’s probably their biggest mistake. Noses bump together and it does feels more like a dream because it ends before they see the outcome. Brittany steps back from Santana and brings reality with her. She smiles carefully and it’s not awkward, just tentative.

 

“I should go get dressed,” she says as an excuse. Her voice sounds thicker. She swallows a few times before smiling tightly and leaving.

 

Santana remains standing in the middle of the room after she’s gone, not even sure what just happened.

 

//

 

She spends as long as she can getting ready once Brittany’s out of the bathroom.

 

She takes a bath, scrubbing every inch of her body and using every single product she got given for Christmas, just because. She puts a treatment in her hair and relaxes back in the bath for ages, wishing that she’d brought something with her to read.

 

She washes herself off and wraps herself in towels and doesn’t see Brittany when she gets out of the shower. She must be in her bedroom and Santana closes her own bedroom door behind her quickly. She dries herself off slowly and puts on some music on her computer. She takes as long as she can to dry and style her hair before she dresses in some sweats.

 

She looks ridiculous but she doesn’t care.

 

Except she kind of does care because, the minute she finally exits her room and finds Brittany in the kitchen, blue eyes are doing a double take as Brittany swallows thickly.

 

Santana ignores it and narrows her eyes at the mess that covers the counters. “What are you doing?” she asks, nodding at the plastic bags of stuff that weren’t there before. “Did you go out?”

 

Brittany nods and reaches into the bags to begin pulling everything out. She’s bought flour and butter and chocolate chips in mass amounts.

 

“Are you making pancakes?” she asks, moving closer.

 

Brittany shakes her head as she pulls out bags of candy and chocolate. “Cookies,” she says with a grin. “Can you get me the measuring scales? And the big mixing bowl we stole from Kurt?”

 

Santana finds them and hands them to Brittany. She leans her hip against the counter and watches as Brittany finds her apron and pulls it over her head. Santana leans forward to tie it for her and Brittany smiles gratefully before reaching for all of her ingredients.

 

“It’s weird to see you baking,” Santana comments around a chuckle. “You used to hate it.”

 

Brittany’s smile softens and she works from a piece of paper in front of her, reading it carefully with a tracing finger. “I didn’t see the point back then,” she says. “But—you know my mom—she was always baking cinnamon rolls and cookies at weekends. I always thought she was crazy because I just couldn’t _get it_. It was always something her and my sister did, but then I moved here and I realized that home isn’t just four walls. It’s pictures and sounds and smells.” She shrugs. “And when Kurt and Rachel came for brunch and he made cinnamon rolls, I figured that maybe I could make the apartment a little bit more like home.”

 

Santana smiles even as she feels disappointment in her chest. “Does this place not feel like home to you?” she asks, nervously.

 

Brittany stops creaming butter and sugar together and looks at her with a pointed smirk. “I said _more_ like home, as in it was already home and I just want to make it better…” Brittany nods. “I want to take all the best parts of my old home and bring them here because this is my home now. Here, in this stuffy little apartment in Brooklyn, with you, is my home.” Santana swallows as Brittany looks at her like she’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. “And, sure, the smell of moth balls and garbage from the dumpsters downstairs is awesome, but I thought the smell of baking cookies at Christmas time was a little more festive.”

 

Santana feels her mouth twitch with a smile. She can’t stop the sudden overwhelming feeling of pride that washes over her and fills every inch of her chest. She’s not sure where this Brittany came from, all she knows is that she likes her just as much. She’s grown up and the only thing that makes Santana sad is that she never got to watch it happen.

 

Brittany chuckles and nudges her with an elbow. “You wanna help?” she asks. “We can make way too many cookies and then spend the afternoon eating them in front of the TV. First one to puke loses.”

 

Santana laughs and nods quickly.

 

“Sure, Britt,” she mutters and Brittany grins at her before handing her more sugar and butter.

 

She ends up with flour in her perfectly styled hair and cookie dough stuck to her fingers but she isn’t worried. She doesn’t care. Brittany glances sideways at her and it makes warmth spread from the base of her spine, all the way down to her toes and up to the tips of her fingers. Her cheeks feel warm and there’s a weird feeling in her chest that doesn’t hurt.

 

She grabs the heart-shaped cookie-cutter without thinking.

 

//

 

They bake three dozen cookies before realizing that they have to eat them and freeze the rest of the cookie dough.

 

They don’t care so much, not when it’s snowing softly again outside and not when there’s nothing better than still warm cookies and hot chocolate when it’s cold outside. They grab their blankets and take to the couches again. It’s only about an hour later that they feel sick but Santana’s not sure if it’s from the cookies or from laughing too much.

 

When Brittany said that they should watch Mexican soap operas, Santana thought she’d be bored. Turns out, it’s quite hilarious.

 

“No seas tan hipocrita, Alejandro!” Brittany calls out to the TV in almost perfectly accented Spanish. “You cheated on her first, with her sister!”

 

Santana shakes her head and buries herself deeper under her blankets. “I don’t get it. Why do they always turn around and talk to the wall when the person is right in front of them? It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen!”

 

“See!” Brittany shouts, pointing her finger at the screen. “I _knew_ he was the baby’s father. I _knew_ it! And don’t even get me started on you, Hermana, just because they cheated on you doesn’t make you any better. You’re no better. Everyone will find out your secret soon enough. Estás echando mucha crema en tus tacos!”

 

Santana laughs except her laugh is more of a snigger beneath her blankets as she watches Brittany. She’s getting way too into it but she knows. She laughs with every word she says and shakes her head with every new scandalous thing that happens.

 

“I thought it was kind of crazy that you’d actually DVRed these,” Santana comments, her cheeks hurting from laughing. “But they’re hilarious.”

 

Brittany nods and picks at another cookie. “They’re ridiculous,” she says and Santana can’t help but agree. She nods slowly as Brittany chews. “But it’s a good way for me to practice my Spanish. Because it’s so ridiculous, I have to pay more attention. Especially when it decides whether that Juan is Santiago’s hermano or his hermana. It really makes the rest of the show confusing.”

 

Santana giggles and her breath becomes shallow for some reasons she isn’t sure of. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s sadness. She doesn’t know but her features soften and she watches Brittany instead of the screen.

 

“Eres un idiota,” Brittany mumbles and Santana’s smile falters as Brittany watches the television.

 

She can’t help but agree.

 

//

 

It’s not until the next morning that Santana remembers that there was actually a good reason for her to be going back to Lima, a really good reason.

 

It’s really annoying that she doesn’t remember that reason until she can’t do anything about it. Not that she could do anything about it before, what with the snow and all transport closed until further notice, but at least she could have tried.

 

It would mean that she wasn’t blindly scurrying her hands around her bedside table hoping to find a fresh pack of dailies instead of the plastic-framed glasses she picked when she was adamant she wouldn’t be wearing them anymore.

 

Now she doesn’t have a choice.

 

“Fuck,” she whispers, reaching for her phone to call her mother.

 

//

 

Brittany doesn’t look at her when she walks into the living room. She’s too busy staring around at their living room with narrow eyes and a thoughtful expression.

 

“I think we should—why are you wearing your glasses?” Brittany says when she finally sees her. Her eyes narrow even further than they already were but a smirk starts to quirk at the corner of her lips.

 

Santana pushes the frames up her nose for about the ten millionth time that makes her remember why she hates them and shakes her head softly. “I was supposed to renew my prescription while we were in Lima and I completely forgot,” she tells her. “I just called my parents and my dad’s gonna speak to my eye doctor. They’re gonna send it to me but it won’t be here until the New Year, so I’m stuck with this for now.”

 

Brittany’s smile softens. “Well, you know I think you look adorable in your glasses.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes even as she feels herself smile. “I look like a dork.”

 

Brittany giggles and her expression is bright with fondness.

 

“You are a dork,” she says, and with anyone else, Santana would scoff, but with Brittany, her smile just grows.

 

She shakes her head and feels her cheeks burn. She ignores Brittany’s comment and climbs onto the couch, pulling her robe around her as she smooths out her unruly bedhead.

 

“Anyway, where you saying something before?”

 

Brittany looks at her and she’s confused for a moment before something clicks in her eyes. She looks back around the living room and then points towards the hallway closet.

 

“I was trying to find a space to put all my darkroom stuff this morning and I remembered how much decorating stuff we have,” she says. “I was thinking that, you know, we haven’t got anything better to do. Why don’t we paint the apartment?”

 

Santana’s brow quirks but then she thinks about it. They’ve had that stuff for six months and if they don’t decorate soon, they never will and that weird stain on the bathroom wall with haunt her forever.

 

“Sounds like a good idea,” she says and Brittany looks shocked that she agreed. Santana bops her on the nose as she walks past to the kitchen. “Let me make breakfast then we can get ready.”

 

When she looks back, Brittany’s watching her.

 

She doesn’t stop watching her the whole time that Santana makes eggs and Santana really doesn’t mind.

 

//

 

“Question, where did you get all this paint and _why_ is there so many different colors?”

 

Santana looks up at her and shrugs from where she’s laying out old sheets on the floor. “I got it all on sale because they were all the last cans left. I barely spent anything on it. Same with those rolls of wallpaper over there.”

 

Brittany shakes her head at her with a grin before falling to sit on her ass in front of the supplies. “So which color is going where? I’m guessing this dark dismal color is for your lair?”

 

Santana turns to her and meets the smirk that greets her. “When did you turn into such a smart ass?”

 

Brittany smirks and Santana blinks slowly at the sight of her smug expression, savoring it.

 

“I’ve always been a smart ass,” Brittany tells her proudly. “You just forgot.”

 

The words make Santana smile but they make her feel sad too because she gets that feeling again, the proud but disappointed feeling that makes her feel like she’s missed everything. Brittany’s more confident, more sure of herself and the head that rests on her shoulders, and Santana hates that she missed seeing that happen.

 

She wants to say something to her about it but she doesn’t know what.

 

“I was thinking the yellow for the kitchen,” she says instead of responding. “And the blues for the bathroom and then we can do in here however we want?”

 

Brittany looks at her and reaches to open up the cans with a butter knife.

 

“Sure,” she nods, but it sounds like something else.

 

//

 

She feels incredibly masculine wearing her glasses and some overalls painting her living room but it’s kind of therapeutic at the same time.

 

The record player plays in the background and Santana sings along as Brittany bounces to the rhythm. She wears sweatpants, an NYU t-shirt and a too big cardigan. She’s barefoot, with a scarf tied around her head and she looks adorable but ridiculous and it makes Santana feel a little better.

 

They take a wall each and Santana kind of wants to laugh that none of the walls in their living room are going to be the same color. She’s painting her wall purple while Brittany’s is red. They have a spare can of darker blue paint for one wall and wallpaper for the other. She feels like it’s going to be awesome though. It’s going to be as mismatched as their furniture.

 

They take a break at lunch and lounge on the sheet-covered couches to eat grilled cheese and leftover cookies. Brittany’s feet are covered in paint and she wiggles her toes as she giggles at the sight of them. Santana laughs too. She looks like she’s been involved in the double murder of a grape and a smurf.

 

They hang the wallpaper once they start working again and it’s a tough job but, considering they’ve never done it before, it looks kind of awesome. Brittany high-fives her when they step back to look at it.

 

Even though the apartment stinks of paint, they open the windows and decide to get the kitchen done too. They cover their living room in appliances before covering the counters with the sheets. They’re lucky that there kitchen isn’t that big and nobody wants to buy yellow paint because they’re both smothered in it a little while later.

 

Brittany looks even more adorable with yellow paint smudges down her face. She kinda looks like one of the Lost Boys from _Hook_ and as soon as she tells her, Brittany wants to watch it on DVD.

 

She calls the pizza place across the street to see if they’re open while Brittany cleans their paint brushes. It’s open and Santana orders them pizza that the owner runs across the street to them twenty minutes later. They over-tip him, just because of how wet he still manages to get in the short distance.

 

Santana doesn’t realize how exhausted she is until she falls back on the couch and reaches for a slice of pizza. Her limbs start to ache and she groans with the sudden comfort of the cushions on her back.

 

She’s not sure how quick it takes her but, one minute she’s eating pizza, the next her arms are around Brittany’s neck and she’s being lifted to her bed. She snuggles in, half-asleep and sighs when arms tighten around her. They hold her close until they let her go, dropping her carefully into her bed. Santana groans again and lets her covers be pulled up around her shoulder. Fingers brush her hair away from her face and then fingers pull her glasses from her face. They click as they hit her bedside table.

 

“Goodnight, Santana,” she feels whispered against her cheek.

 

Santana cuddles up to her pillow and sighs as her cheek presses into it. “Night, Britt Britt,” she whispers and she’s sure she feels a nose brush over her cheek before lips press gently against it.

 

She hates that she won’t remember it and tries to stay half-awake as long as possible to try not to forget.

 

//

 

Brittany’s already painting the bathroom by the time Santana wakes up.

 

She’s kind of fuzzy-headed for some reason. She’s still dressed in yesterday’s clothes and she can’t remember how. She feels like she’s slept too long and she rubs at her eyes beneath her glasses as she wanders into the bathroom to pee but can’t because Brittany’s stood on the back of the toilet.

 

She’s got her paintbrush in hand and she glances down at Santana before realizing how silly she must look.

 

“Hi,” she laughs. “I was trying to get a head start… did you need to pee?”

 

Santana can only manage a nod and she blinks to wake up as Brittany climbs down. Santana continues to blink but stops when she feels Brittany squeeze at her waist. Her eyes widen and she’s not prepared for how Brittany’s hand runs over her stomach before she lets go.

 

“Morning, Sleepyhead,” she giggles and Santana doesn’t know what to do. “I’ll go get your brush ready.”

 

Santana can still feel the touch when Brittany comes back five minutes later.

 

//

 

“What color is this anyway?” Brittany asks when they’re finished in the bathroom and getting the next batch of paint ready.

 

Santana smirks at the grimace on Brittany’s face. “It’s grey,” she says. “And it won’t look too bad once it’s mixed with the purple wallpaper. Plus, I’ve got these purple sheets I’ve been waiting to use until I’d decorated, so…”

 

Brittany’s grimace turns into a smile. “Wanna hear a secret?” Brittany says. Santana nods. “I’m kinda mad at you for decorating my room for me. Not that I’m not grateful, I’m just bored of blue bedroom walls…”

 

Santana feels something fall inside of her. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” she says quickly and guiltily. “We can paint it again if you want? Any color you want.”

 

Brittany smiles again and shakes her head. “Nah, it’s okay,” she says. “I like that you wanted to make me comfortable. I like that you wanted to make me feel at home with you.”

 

The words make the .moment feel heavy. Santana takes in a deep breath and stops cleaning the brush in her hands. She looks at Brittany and her eyes are bright. Her cheeks are pink. Santana’s throat feels dry all of a sudden and she swallows to moisten it but it won’t work. She kind of feels dizzy.

 

“We should—we should clear the stuff from your room,” Brittany says and Santana nods dumbly before leading Brittany to her bedroom.

 

//

 

It shouldn’t feel weird to have Brittany going through her things and packing them into boxes but it does. It’s been such a long time since she last saw Brittany picking up her clothes from her bedroom floor and putting them in her laundry basket. They used to be without boundaries but now they do and it’s strange. Seeing Brittany piling her records feels like the weirdest thing in the world.

 

“I’m done with the records,” Brittany says as she comes back into her bedroom from the living room. “I’m gonna take the stuff out of your dresser because we’ve got, like, no room out there and we’re gonna have to lift it over everything.”

 

Santana, engrossed in finding matching pairs of shoes under her bed, just nods. She lays down on her stomach and crawls underneath, her legs poking out the side. She grunts as she tries to reach something farthest away from her and groans when she can’t reach it. She lays her cheek onto her forearm and rests for a minute, only then noticing how quiet everything else.

 

It makes her nervous. “You okay?” she calls out, not even knowing if Brittany’s still in the room.

 

She’s glad when the bed sinks and Brittany’s bare feet appear at the end. Still, it’s too quiet.

 

“Britt?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m—I’m fine,” Brittany says but she doesn’t sound fine. She sounds a million other things but not _fine_. Santana watches her feet shift awkwardly. “It’s just—Santana… why do you have a pile of my clothes in your dresser?”

 

Santana’s confused for a moment, but then she remembers and she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to say. All she feels is embarrassed and pathetic, a little ridiculous.

 

She knows exactly what pile of clothes Brittany’s talking about and, while the question makes her sound like a total creeper, it’s not the case. She’s had them since they were fifteen years old and sleepovers became routine rather than a privilege. They’re not the same pile of clothes, just a rotation of what Brittany’s brought and left behind. It made sense at the time, but now it doesn’t. Brittany used to keep clothes in Santana’s room “just in case”. Just in case they had a sleepover. Just in case she needed to change after practice. Just in case she needed something more comfortable after a party. Just in case…

 

It doesn’t make sense that Santana has a just in case pile in her dresser now that Brittany’s own dresser is mere feet away in her own room.

 

Santana rolls onto her back and clears her throat. She’s not sure if it’s the dust or something else but her throat feels dry and her eyes sting.

 

“It’s the same—it’s the…” she starts but the words feel silly. She doesn’t want to admit what she knows she has to. It’s the only way. When she speaks, her words are a whisper. “It’s the same pile of clothes that used to be in my closet in Lima.”

 

The room fills with that strange silence. Santana turns her head to look at Brittany’s feet. Only her toes touch the floor but they’re stock still.

 

“Why are they here?” Brittany asks softly. Her confusion hurts Santana for reasons that Santana’s not sure.

 

She laughs awkwardly and looks up at the pattern of her mattress. When her eyes start to burn, she shakes her head and takes deep, unsteady breaths.

 

“I don’t know,” she says except she does. “But, the day before I left for Louisville, you’d gone to sleep and I was still packing my clothes. I think I was sitting there and I was watching you sleep and it just felt weird to not have some of your clothes there. It felt weird to think that you couldn’t stay over if you wanted.” Her voice is croaky and timid. “And then, when I moved to New York, it still felt weird, so I brought them with me.”

 

The words were supposed to make the silence go away but it just makes it feel worse. Brittany still doesn’t talk but she starts to bounce on the edge of the bed, her toes moving as she does so. The bed creaks a little but Santana doesn’t move, she just lays there and wonders what expression is on Brittany’s face, except she’s not sure she really wants to know.

 

When she speaks, it’s not what Santana expected to hear.

 

“You never invited me to stay in Louisville,” she whispers softly. “Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted me to stay over?”

 

Santana lays still and swallows over and over again, trying to force away the lump in her throat. It tastes of regret and bile. It makes her feel sad and she closes her eyes as she takes one final swallow and speaks.

 

“I don’t know,” she lies because the truth hurts too much.

 

Because Brittany never needed to ask but she didn’t anyway, so Santana assumed she didn’t want to.

 

“I would have liked that,” Brittany whispers and Santana doesn’t have to imagine her expression. She can hear Brittany’s smile and she starts smiling herself because of it.

 

Her body relaxes slowly. “Me too,” she admits.

 

“It—it would have been fun,” Brittany goes on and her smile is still there but it’s less. There’s more nerves in her voice. “It would have been nice to spend a weekend away from Lima. We could have sat around your dorm in sweatpants and eaten ramen or something.” There’s a longer pause that’s almost wistful but something else too, something that makes Santana aware of how fast her pulse is. “I would have liked that,” Brittany repeats. “Being locked in your room for a weekend.”

 

Her voice changes and Santana can tell that the smile has changed too. It makes her wish that she wasn’t laying underneath her bed any more so she shuffles out. When she gets up, Brittany’s still sat at the foot of the bed except she’s staring over one shoulder. Her face looks relaxed but determined. Her eyes are dark and glassy. Santana can feel her pulse thudding erratically as she Brittany’s eyes flicker across her. Everything about it makes her panic and she turns away reaching for something to busy herself.

 

She grabs one of her pillows and regrets it instantly. She sees a flash of blue and puts it straight back down again before darting her eyes back over at Brittany, praying that she didn’t see.

 

From the smug expression on her face and the smile tugging at her lips, Santana knows that she did.

 

She’s sure of it when Brittany leans forward and reaches underneath the pillow. Her eyes dart up to Santana as she scrambles underneath it, her smile growing, before she pulls at the fabric and tugs it towards her. She holds it in her hands before lifting it to her nose. The action makes Santana shiver and she looks away as Brittany strokes the fabric. It’s a lot softer but that’s mostly because it hasn’t been washed since Brittany doused it in her perfume the week before she left for Louisville.

 

If Brittany can tell, she doesn’t mention it, just like the first and last time she found it stuffed under Santana’s pillow. It hadn’t been washed for a while that time either, not since Brittany left it wrapped under her bed the Christmas before. She didn’t say anything, she just tossed it aside and kissed Santana’s cheek. That night, Santana couldn’t find the blanket but found it the afternoon after, fresh out of the laundry and covered in Brittany’s perfume.

 

She’s not sure if she wants Brittany to try and wash it this time.

 

She’s not sure if she’s glad or disappointed when Brittany just smiles and folds it carefully before handing it back.

 

She doesn’t think about it. She’s too busy thinking about the look on Brittany’s face.

 

//

 

Things start to feel weird again, but in a completely different way.

 

They stand on opposite sides of Santana’s bedroom, painting her walls and things don’t feel like they’re going to fall apart at any minute. They feel like something new entirely but strangely old and familiar at the same time.

 

It’s magnetic almost. Santana can feel Brittany’s presence more than she could before. She can feel her eyes and her heat pointed in her direction. It makes Santana feel charged in a way that she hasn’t in too long a time. It’s a desperate feeling that’s scary because she knows that she’ll never be able to control it. It’s too big inside of her chest, buried deep within her and so inherent that she can’t even find its root or cause. It’s something that makes Santana who she is and whenever that feeling rises to the surface, it makes her body feel weak and desperate to give in.

 

That feeling just keeps getting bigger and bigger the more time that Santana spends in her room with Brittany. Sometimes she catches Brittany staring at her but Brittany doesn’t look away; she just keeps staring and smiling when Santana looks at her. She doesn’t even seem ashamed, just curious about something… anticipatory. Everything about her looks easy and patient. It makes Santana nervous.

 

It makes her really nervous and her pulse thuds as Brittany moves closer to her. She’s covered in cute splashes of gray paint and, if anything, they make the sparkle in her eye seem brighter.

 

Santana finds herself getting caught but it doesn’t bother Brittany. Brittany just smiles back and moves closer.

 

They stand almost hip to hip and it reminds Santana of being back in high school, sitting in a library and scrawling over yearbooks in marker pen. Their proximity means that her right hand and Brittany’s left stroke together as they paint and Brittany feels so soft that Santana doesn’t even realize when their pinkies link together.

 

She doesn’t realize until the grip tightens and Brittany moves just that little more closer. Her breath catches and she’s so struck with shock of how much she’s missed the feeling that she’s sure she stops breathing.

 

She turns her face to watch Brittany but Brittany isn’t looking.

 

She’s just smiling softly to herself and that makes everything worse.

 

//

 

They make dinner together and the conversation and banter that they usually share as they make it is different. It’s made of more.

 

Brittany moves around their kitchen, and there’s more than enough space from the both of them, but she uses every opportunity to touch Santana. Her hands grip at her hips as she tries to move around her and her fingers graze over her lower back and down her arms. Santana’s not actually sure if she actually helps to make dinner in any way at all.

 

Brittany sets the coffee table the same way they did on Christmas day and they sit opposite each other with their legs touching underneath the table. They eat slowly, talk too much, and Santana realizes that there’s only one word to describe what Brittany’s doing. She’s flirting and it should feel innocent but it doesn’t.

 

How can it when Brittany blinks so slowly, smiles with an expression that says more than her words do? They listen to records and don’t even turn the TV on, talking and talking about everything and nothing until it’s late and they don’t even know how.

 

They carry everything back into Santana’s room but the walls are still dry, so Santana decides to sleep on the couch. Brittany goes to her room to get ready for bed while Santana creates herself a makeshift bed on the couch. She puts on her comfiest pajamas and turns out the light in favor of a low-lit lamp. She snuggles down under the covers and is almost half-asleep when Brittany’s bedroom door opens.

 

The minute Santana sees her, she forgets her sleepiness or any exhaustion that she feels. She’s in nothing but a pair of underwear and a tight NYU t-shirt. Her hair is down and her eyes are glassy. Her smile is gentle as she steps forward, her footsteps dulled by the thick socks on her feet. She stands at the end of the couch and scratches at her stomach, revealing a line of hard muscle in the low-light.

 

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” she says softly.

 

Her voice is thick but Santana can tell it isn’t with sleepiness. She nods slowly as Brittany steps closer to move closer to her. She giggles softly as she gets down onto her knees and reaches a hand up to Santana’s face. Santana’s eyes cross as Brittany plucks her glasses from her face by the bridge. She closes the arms and reaches over Santana to put them behind her on the lamp table. One of her hands settles on Santana’s shoulders when she pulls back and, to Santana, Brittany’s all yellow light and soft edges. She leans forward and Santana’s breath catches until a kiss is pressed to her forehead.

 

She can make out Brittany’s soft, smug smile when she pulls back. “Goodnight, Santana…” she whispers.

 

Santana nods, unable to speak, and admires the sway of Brittany’s hips as she gets up and walks back to her room.

 

When Brittany doesn’t close her bedroom door behind her, Santana knows she isn’t going to sleep.

 

//

 

She’s laying there thinking that, if she keeps lying as still as she is, then she’ll be able to sleep when she first hears it.

 

She freezes even more than she already is and holds her breath, listening carefully.

 

At first, all it is is the sound of sheets ruffling and the typical noises of someone moving in their sleep except… Santana’s not really sure if she’s ever heard Brittany move in her sleep unless she’s having a nightmare or not really deeply asleep at all. Usually, she’s out like a light and doesn’t move for hours but, here she is and she’s moving a lot.

 

She keeps moving and shuffling until Santana hears a relieved exhale of breath. It makes her pause and she swallows nervously before she hears it again.

 

Only it’s sharper and sounds more desperate than relieved this time. It makes Santana’s heart thud in her chest because it’s familiar in a way that she doesn’t want to be, familiar because Santana’s sure that she still hears it in her dreams sometimes. She turns her head to the side and waits, wanting to hear it again.

 

Except, when the breaths sound more like gasps, she changes her mind. Her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter. If she’s about to overhear what she thinks she is, she doesn’t want to listen to it. She doesn’t even want to _think_ about it. She’s not sure she has the capacity.

 

It’s not until she hears the gasps come more regularly, accompanied by the sound of sheets moving from desperately searching limbs, that she realizes she’ll have to find the capacity. Her hand almost subconsciously falls to rest on her own hip and she forces it away the minute she realizes, clenching her fist to control herself.

 

But she’s not sure how long she can do that, not when she’s felt that feeling pulling to the surface all day, not when Brittany’s gasps are slowly losing control and getting louder at the same time they’re getting louder. She can almost remember the warmth of Brittany’s skin when she’s like this, can almost remember the taste of her sweat. It makes her lose her breath all together and she closes her eyes tighter, trying to take herself someplace else where she can be in control.

 

It doesn’t help that Brittany starts whimpering out desperate words to accompany her gasps, like the cymbal crashing in a song that Santana knows by heart.

 

“C’mon,” Brittany whimpers. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” she begs of herself until her movements are quick and frantic, overwhelming for Santana and still not enough for herself.

 

With a broken moan, Santana can’t take anymore. Her hand finds her waistband and rests there for a moment. She wants to turn onto her back but she knows it’ll make Brittany stop and she can’t allow that to happen. She needs to remember what Brittany sounds like when she comes, when she reaches the peak that always makes her look her most beautiful. She wants to make sure that it still sounds as thick and full as it used to.

 

“Please…” Brittany’s whimpers soon change to. “Please… c’mon, please… _Oh god_ , please…”

 

She’s more vocal than Santana would have thought, not when the door is open and not when Santana’s lying on the couch. It occurs to Santana that maybe that’s why this is happening, that this is what Brittany wants. It sounds fucked up at the same time it sends heat and moisture to Santana’s core. Wondering makes her more curious, makes her want to turn onto her back twice as much. Her breath hitches when Brittany releases a broken moan before gasping for breath.

 

She turns over without even thinking about it, regrets it when the noises stop. She freezes and holds her breath, waiting for it to stop or go on. She waits what feels like forever until Brittany does the last thing she expects her to and pushes back the covers before laying with her head at the foot of the bed. The move makes her face visible clearly to Santana and her blue eyes are dark.

 

Santana doesn’t feel stuck or caught as she stares into them. She just feels like she’s in a bubble and all she cares about is how Brittany’s lips part as her hand slips back down her body and between her legs. Santana can’t see it, but she can imagine it, and that makes it worse.

 

She breathes out and it’s so shaky it doesn’t sound like a breath at all. Her eyelids flutter again but Brittany’s are wide open and staring at her intently. It feels like their expressions should be reversed, especially when Brittany starts moving slower, when it’s clear where her fingers are moving slowly in and out from, as she pants in time with them.

 

Her neck arches against the mattress and Santana’s blankets fall to the floor without her evening noticing. She’s too busy stroking over her hips, across the tops of her thighs and then down. She likes the way that Brittany’s eyes flicker with each movement, how her breathing changes. She keeps doing it until she can’t anymore and puts her fingers where she desperately needs them.

 

She’s wet, too wet, wetter than she thought. Now that it’s on her fingers she can feel that it’s everywhere, that she’s soaking through her pajama bottoms. Her eyes roll and she hears Brittany pant, mutter words that she doesn’t hear. A distant voice at the back of her head tells her that this shouldn’t be happening but she ignores it when her fingers reach her clit. She moans out a gasp that makes Brittany whimper and she runs her fingers over her clit a few times before she realizes that she can’t anymore before they slip down inside of herself.

 

She moves slowly, tentative and terrified that if she moves to fast everything will stop. It’s hard, especially when she sees Brittany’s knees lift until her thighs are at ninety degrees to her body and her hips are rocking impatiently. She can hear Brittany’s fingers as they bury themselves inside of her mixed in with her pants and she tries to time it to her own, finding Brittany’s rhythm as quickly as she can.

 

It’s the rhythm that works best and Santana feels herself climbing higher and higher as her fingers press as hard and fast as she can get them too. Her eyes roll and she can see Brittany whimpering something that looks like the hiss of the first syllable of her name. She can’t hear it to be sure because suddenly all she can hear is the rush of blood through her ears.

 

In a way, she’s glad for that because seeing Brittany is already too much, especially when a second hand joins the first. Brittany rubs furiously at her clit and Santana can remember what it feels like. She moves a second hand to her own and moves in time with her.

 

“Fuck… fuck…” she sees Brittany pant and that just makes everything ten times worse. Santana feels herself reaching the edge faster at the thought of Brittany swearing but it doesn’t matter, not when Brittany’s body snaps quickly, buckling in half almost as it continues to ebb. Her face relaxes into happiness and her blue eyes flutter open to keep watching Santana and that’s enough. Santana falls over the edge so slowly that it almost aches but Brittany’s there watching her and it’s okay. It always feels okay.

 

Words tickle at Santana’s lips but she bites them away. Brittany looks at her and her eyes flutter in exhaustion. Her legs lower and she rolls onto her side.

 

Santana breathes heavily as Brittany watches her and her eyes flutter and fight to keep looking at her. She wants to ask questions, she wants to apologize… she wants the moment to go on forever. She wants so many things and she feels confused and comforted. It’s disorientating.

 

But Brittany doesn’t look away and it’s like an anchor. It keeps her steady and before she can stabilize herself enough, Santana falls asleep, the color of Brittany’s blue eyes guiding her to the comfort of dreams.

 

//

 

Brittany’s still asleep when Santana wakes up and, if she wasn’t laying in the same place that Santana had watched her shatter and break the night before, she’d think it was a dream.

 

She watches her for a moment, studying her carefully, and notices how Brittany’s face looks more relaxed. Her head is pillowed on her elbow but she still looks like she’s sleeping well for the first time in ages. Her body seems to sink into the mattress and her eyelids flutter against her cheeks as she dreams.

 

Santana fights the urge to push messy blond hair from her face to see her better and lays there, watching her for as long as she can until the rush of thoughts through her brain make it impossible.

 

It’s still early by the time she decides to get up. She tidies her blankets and sheets from the couch and walks them into her bedroom. It still smells like paint but it’s dry and she starts putting her furniture back. She refolds everything back into her dresser and swallows hard as she slips the pile of Brittany’s clothes back in there too. She finds her new sheets and puts them on her bed, folding up her blanket and slipping it under her pillow where she always keeps it.

 

She tries to stop herself from thinking about whatever awkward conversation her and Brittany are in store for and completely rearranges her room, switching everything around, trying to find the way she wants everything to be.

 

She gets so lost in doing it that she doesn’t hear Brittany wake up, or her feet pad across the living room.

 

“Do you need any help?” she says and it makes Santana jump about four feet in the air. She spins around to find Brittany stood in the doorway wearing the same t-shirt she wore last night except she’s luckily wearing some sweatpants now too.

 

Santana stares at her and isn’t sure what to say. She can’t find any sort of discomfort on Brittany’s face, just the same glassy glow in her eyes that had been there making Santana nervous the day before.

 

“Uh… no,” Santana shakes her head before clearing her throat. “I’m all good. Almost done.”

 

Brittany nods and Santana doesn’t understand what’s happening.

 

“Do you mind if I use the shower first then?” she asks, throwing a pointed thumb behind her. Santana studies her quickly again before shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. Brittany smiles, not noticing. “Cool. Thanks,” she says. “I won’t be long.”

 

//

 

True to her word, Brittany doesn’t take long at all but Santana’s retrieving the last of her things when she comes out of the bathroom.

 

Brittany’s wearing nothing but a towel and it’s just like every other time she has a shower except the image of Brittany’s face when she came is still fresh in Santana’s memory and it makes it hard not to think about things she shouldn’t. Drops of water continue to roll down from Brittany’s neck down her chest. Her legs are slick with moisture and Santana closes her eyes because she can’t stop thinking about them wrapped around her waist, soaking her.

 

She decides against putting away the last of her things and heads to the shower instead. She grabs her bathrobe and locks herself inside the bathroom. She almost wants to turn the water freezing cold but doesn’t, knowing it’s probably kill her in this weather.

 

Instead, she makes it so hot that it almost hurts to be under the spray. She washes the night off of her skin and sighs because she doesn’t feel like it’s gone at all.

 

She doesn’t think it ever will.

 

//

 

Santana’s half-dressed and drying her hair when there’s a knock on her half-open bedroom door.

 

When she turns off the hairdryer and looks up to find Brittany stood in the doorway, she nervously tugs on the bottom of her t-shirt so that it covers up her underwear. It makes her stomach drop when Brittany’s eyes drop to her hands and watch her slowly.

 

“Do you want some breakfast?” Brittany asks and she swallows visibly before looking back up to Santana’s face.

 

Santana doesn’t know what to say and just sits there for a minute, watching Brittany as Brittany’s eyes flick back down to her legs, visibly tracing up them from her ankles to where her shirt meets the top of her thighs.

 

“I was going to make corned beef and pastrami hash and eggs,” she says, shameless in her staring and not even caring that Santana can see her. “Do you want some?”

 

For a second, Santana can’t remember what Brittany’s talking about yet her brain screams _yes_.

 

“S-Sure…” she nods, her voice higher than it should be.

 

Brittany gives her one last lingering look before smiling and leaving.

 

Santana stares after her and wonders how easy it would be to explain away drinking booze at breakfast.

 

All she knows is that she needs to.

 

//

 

Breakfast is hard.

 

Brittany has their kitchen table set by the time that she gets out of her bedroom and Santana’s forced to sit opposite her. It’s hard because she can feel the heat of Brittany’s legs near her own, can feel their feet and legs brushing and it shouldn’t be effecting her in this way. She shouldn’t be thinking about things like this without some form of clarity between them. Last night shouldn’t have happened either because, the more that Santana thinks about it, the more she realizes that she doesn’t know anything. She’s not sure of _anything_ right now and it’s making her uncomfortable.

 

She hopes the damn snow melts soon, that she can start going back to work and flirting shamelessly with women to relieve the tension she can feel in her pelvis, making her shift awkwardly in her chair.

 

She can’t take much more of this, not when there’s a boy back in Ohio they should be thinking about. Not when there’s years of history to consider before they act irrationally.

 

Shit, Santana needs a drink.

 

She needs to be at work. She needs to be surrounded by mindless people and mindless actions but all she has is a pantry full of booze and no way to warrant drinking it recklessly. It’s not New Years’ Eve until the day after tomorrow.

 

“Are you okay?” Brittany asks and Santana wants to scream because _of course_ she’s not okay. They watched each other come last night and it was better than she remembered. It’s all she can think about. Everything reminds her of it. “Do you want a glass of water or something?”

 

It’s an innocent question but Brittany accompanies it with a hand to Santana’s wrist. The fingers of her right hand press against Santana’s wrist, against her pulse, and it shoots a thudding straight between Santana’s legs. Her heart feels like it’s in her pelvis, thudding and squeezing the blood around her body.

 

Santana struggles to reel herself in.

 

“You wanna get drunk tonight?” she asks without thinking. Brittany’s head tilts to the side as her eyes narrow. Santana swallows nervously. “We have all that booze I bought left. We could have a party.”

 

Brittany looks at her fondly. Her hand remains on Santana’s wrist. “Just the two of us?”

 

It’s probably a bad idea but Santana’s not sure she cares.

 

She nods and Brittany grins.

 

It must have been the right answer.

 

//

 

She goes for a walk to try and calm down under the guise of buying mixers.

 

She does but she buys a packet of cigarettes too and walks around the neighborhood chain-smoking until she feels comfortable enough to come back.

 

Brittany must smell it on her when she comes through the door because she narrows her eyes and smiles a little. It makes a little bit of Santana’s comfort disappear.

 

“You could have smoked in here,” Brittany says softly as she tidies the living room. “There was no need to stand out in the cold.”

 

Santana just nods and tries to pretend like she doesn’t want to run back out the door.

 

//

 

Brittany brings her a rum and coke to her bedroom half an hour later.

 

“Here,” she says softly. “You look like you need it.”

 

Santana takes it with the hand that isn’t holding another lit cigarette and smiles gratefully. She isn’t ready for Brittany to sit down on the edge of her bed opposite her. She isn’t prepared for the onslaught of desperate thoughts that overcomes her at the sight of Brittany on her bed.

 

She fights away the need to just put out her cigarette and pounce and turns away to sip at her drink.

 

“It’s good,” she whispers.

 

Brittany smiles and lifts her legs to rest her feet against the window frame beside Santana’s. Her toes touch the ashtray and she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Are you okay?” Brittany asks. For the first time all day, she looks nervous.

 

Santana shrugs and laughs nervously. “Getting a little cabin fever,” she says softly. Brittany nods but she looks sad, disappointed, almost. She swallows and tries to smile. Santana shrugs. “It’s weird spending all the time at home. It’s weird not seeing other human beings. I feel like I haven’t seen anyone but you, the pizza guy and the dude from the store on the corner all week.”

 

Brittany smiles. “Are you bored of me?” she jokes but it sounds serious too.

 

Santana breathes in and laughs because she doesn’t know how to say that she isn’t without admitting the truth: that she can’t get enough of her.

 

//

 

By her third rum and coke, she feels more relaxed.

 

It’s still only five in the evening but the alcohol is starting to numb her thoughts around the edges and make them seem unimportant. She stands in the kitchen with Brittany, making a quick dinner of pasta and salad, laughing and smiling because everything is easier all of a sudden.

 

Santana begins to wonder if it wouldn’t hurt being a little drunk at all times from now on.

 

Brittany stands close to her and Santana likes it. The proximity starts to feel comforting rather than stifling. She hopes that she can drink straight through the emotional portion of her drunkenness this evening and straight into the part where she can’t remember anything and ends up blacking out for twelve hours.

 

By the way that Brittany’s refilling her drinks, she thinks that maybe Brittany’s thinking of that too.

 

“So, we’re just going to keep drinking?” Brittany says once they’re eating. “We’re not doing anything else?” Santana shrugs and she laughs. “This is the worst party ever.”

 

Santana just shrugs and smile at her. She swallows a mouthful of bread before speaking. “Well, we can drink until we think of something to do. Why? Got any ideas?”

 

Brittany shakes her head. She pushes food around her plate and avoids Santana’s eyes. “We could watch a movie or listen to music or something. We could play Monopoly where you have to drink a shot of tequila every time you land on someone’s property.”

 

Santana snorts and grins. “I’m pretty sure that might end up with a trip to the ER to get one of our stomachs pumped.”

 

Brittany’s smirk is mischievous and teasing. “At least we’ll have some good stories.”

 

“And liver damage,” Santana quips before she shrugs. “We can watch a movie and then see what happens.”

 

She’s sure that Brittany’s eyes fall to her lips. She licks them subconsciously and Brittany mirrors the action.

 

“I’ll pick,” she says and Santana feels like she knows what’s going to happen, she just can’t remember.

 

//

 

Santana’s not sure why they’re both sitting on one couch when they have two, but somehow they are.

 

Santana’s sure she’s at the stage where she would normally be bawling her eyes out by now but, for some reason—a reason that she’s sure has to do with the fact that they’re lying on their sides, top and tailing on the couch and Brittany’s hand is on her thigh—she isn’t.

 

Instead, she feels a familiar warmth seeping through her body. It’s comforting. It feels nice. It relaxes her and she mirrors the action on Brittany’s thigh, keeping her hand still as Brittany’s fingers start softly stroking her skin over her sweatpants.

 

“I like this movie,” Brittany whispers. Santana doesn’t even remember what they’re watching.

 

“Me too,” she says, when really she means _I like this_.

 

//

 

“Okay, okay, okay…” Brittany slurs before giggling uncontrollably. “Truth or dare.”

 

Santana blinks slowly and smiles. “Dare,” she says without thinking about it.

 

Brittany shuffles excitedly before chuckling and reaching for the hat on the coffee table. She reaches into it and pulls out one of the folded pieces of paper before reading it out. She smiles as she speaks. “I dare you to make an—an ob-obscene phone call to Rachel Berry.”

 

Her giggles are contagious and Santana feels laughter swelling in her chest. Her fingers stroke up Brittany’s ankle and down her foot and Santana’s not sure when she started doing that, so she doesn’t stop. She can’t even remember how they came to sit like this, still top and tailed, laid on their backs with legs and bodies tangled. She thinks it just sort of happened once the movie finished. She can’t really remember and she isn’t complaining. It’s comfortable.

 

“What’s that?” she asks as Brittany keeps giggling.

 

Brittany struggles to control herself. “It means you have to call her up and say something obscene.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know. Ask her for sex, or something.”

 

“What?! No!”

 

“Then face the consequences and my judgment,” Brittany smirks before reaching behind her for the phone. “C’mon. Just call her up and tell her you want to desecrate her vagina and be done with it.”

 

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

 

“Me too,” Brittany comments. “Grossed myself out. Call her.”

 

Santana groans before taking the phone. She’s lucky Rachel’s cell number is in the address book because finding it is hard enough. She presses dial before holding the phone to her ear. Brittany leans up on her elbows and watches. When Rachel answers the phone, all Santana hears is someone mumble something about how it’s almost midnight. She ignores it and starts talking.

 

“You’re so sexy,” she mumbles and as her eyes flutter closed, Santana concentrates on the feel of Brittany’s ankle beneath her hand. “I want you so bad,” she whispers as Rachel splutters down the phone. If Santana wasn’t drunk, she’d find it weird that Rachel was so speechless. “Let’s have sex. I bet you’re a total bobcat in the sack. I bet you’re into some weird shit too, huh? That’s cool. I’m open-minded as long as you’re open-legged—”

 

Brittany laughs so loudly it makes Santana jump. She drops the phone and by the time she finds it, the line is dead. She laughs and tosses it back at Brittany so it lays on her stomach.

 

“Truth or dare, Pierce,” she says as she reaches for the bottle or rum they’ve been gulping out of.

 

“Truth,” Brittany says as she leans forward to take the bottle.

 

As she sits up, Santana’s yet again struck by the memory of her face as she came. It makes warmth flood through her and her brain short-circuits for a second. Even when it does work, it’s one-tracked.

 

“Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

 

Brittany’s eyes are glassy and they look at her knowingly. She gulps out of the bottle and pauses before speaking. “Like, as a joke or in real life?” she asks.

 

“Real life,” Santana says taking back the bottle. “No stalling.”

 

Brittany giggles. “Then, yeah. More than once.” Santana looks down her body to see Brittany’s face and finds blue eyes staring back at her. “I’m not telling you with who but I will tell you that I never did it with you.”

 

The words make Santana blush but she giggles anyway. “Duh,” she says, even as she still feels smug. “Why would you need to?”

 

Brittany’s eyebrow quirks and she smiles a little. Her toes wriggle against Santana’s forearm and she smirks. “Exactly. Even at your worst you were still better than most.”

 

Santana laughs but her cheeks burn red anyway. She grabs the bottle from Brittany’s hand and brings it to her lips before taking a gulp. Brittany looks at her pointedly before laughing awkwardly and taking the bottle back.

 

“Truth or dare, Lopez?” she asks.

 

Santana runs her tongue over her teeth and around her mouth before speaking.

 

“Truth,” she says finally and, though her glasses are completely pointless because she can’t see much anyway, Santana’s sure that she sees relief on her face.

 

She scratches at the label on the bottle and doesn’t look at Santana. Santana isn’t sure if she’s stalling or trying to think of something. She still doesn’t know when Brittany clenches closed one eye and look up at her.

 

“How many people…” she starts slowly. “Have you had sex with?”

 

The question makes Santana stop and she wants to say to Brittany that she knows the answer to that question except, really, she doesn’t. It makes her stomach drop and swallows down the dryness in her throat before shrugging her shoulders awkwardly.

 

“Why do you want to know?” she asks. Brittany shrugs her shoulders and Santana doesn’t push her because Brittany doesn’t have to have a reason, not in this game. There doesn’t have to be a reason in this game. That’s the point. She rolls her eyes and laughs awkwardly. Her chest feels close to aching. “Seven,” she says and it comes out quieter than she wanted it to.

 

Brittany still hears it and her expression softens and darkens once she processes the information. She moistens her lips and stares at Santana without really staring at her. Her eyes are looking but she’s thinking so hard she’s probably blind to everything around her. And Santana hates that she can’t tell what she’s thinking, that she can’t see the thoughts that rush through Brittany’s brain when she finds out that Santana’s only had sex with one person the entire time they’ve been apart.

 

The longer she looks she thinks that maybe she sees some relief, some intrigue but, mostly, she thinks she sees sadness.

 

“Truth or dare,” Santana asks because she wants the expression to change.

 

Santana sees the moment that Brittany stops thinking about it. Her eyes completely change color. “Dare,” she says and reaches over onto the table to pass Santana the hat.

 

“Chug a whole glass of something,” Santana reads. “Darers choice.” Santana looks around and doesn’t know if she wants Brittany to get up from where she sits yet. Her hand is still wrapped around Brittany’s ankle. She can still feel her warmth. She eyes the bottle of rum, just over a third full, and nods to it. “Chug the rest of the rum.”

 

Brittany doesn’t even pause before taking it and drinking it. Santana’s mouth falls open a little because she’s not even sure if it touches the sides. Brittany doesn’t even wince. She just drops the bottle to the floor once she’s done and reaches for the next alcoholic bottle on the table. It’s whiskey.

 

“Truth or dare,” Brittany asks as she twists the cap and takes a mouthful. Her voice is hoarse and it makes Santana swallow uncomfortably.

 

“Truth,” she says and regrets it instantly.

 

“Who’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” Brittany asks and it’s still there, a far away distant wondering that scares and worries Santana at the same time. It’s like Brittany’s having two conversations at once—one with Santana and another with the voices in her head—and isn’t sure who’s best to listen to.

 

Santana shakes her head and sighs. She feels like she could slip back into being an emotional drunk at any second; her heart feels heavy and her head feels like it’s about to fall off her shoulders. She closes her eyes and sighs.

 

“You shouldn’t even have to ask that…” she mutters and she’s sure she hears Brittany laugh quietly. The glass of the whiskey bottle touches the side of Santana’s wrist and she grabs for it, taking it before gulping it heartily. She’s starting to think that was a bad idea.

 

Brittany toys with the ankles of her sweatpants. “So, Quinn?” she asks. Santana gives her a look that removes the smile from her face. She doesn’t look like she regrets it though. She shakes her head and chuckles. “God, was it that bad?”

 

Her eyes feel like they’re about to water and Santana closes them again, clenching her jaw to stop it from stinging with the need to cry. She grips at the bottle and drinks from it when she needs the preoccupation it brings.

 

“It was the weirdest experience of my life,” she says finally. “I think if you asked me the worst sex I’ve ever had, it would be in contention, purely because of how awkward it was. It felt like an exchange rather than…” she trails off because she can’t remember the word. Sex with Brittany was something else. “She wasn’t terrible but she tried too hard. I touched her first—” Santana stops when she feels Brittany flinch. “—and the first time it was great. She was nervous and I went down on her. I don’t think anyone had ever been down on her because she looked like she’d seen an entire new universe. It made her confident but the second time was awful. She tried hard but nothing worked. I couldn’t come so I ended up fucking her again instead. It was nowhere near as perfect as having sex with you was and I realized that soon after and made my exit.”

 

She takes a long drink from the bottle once she’s done and it numbs her at the same time it sobers her up in a way. She grimaces at the taste in the back of her throat and groans.

 

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” she mutters but looks up when Brittany shakes her head.

 

“No, you should have,” is all she says and their eyes meet for a minute before Brittany looks away and forces a smile.

 

Everything is silent for a moment but Santana asks Brittany the question to get away from the awkwardness. Brittany picks truth and Santana takes too long thinking of a question that, when she finally thinks of one, it’s nothing more than her own messed up curiosity emerging from her throat like vomit.

 

“Last time you had sex,” she asks and Brittany’s face falls for a second before she laughs. Her head falls back and she licks at her lips before looking back up at Santana and shaking her head in disbelief. Santana laughs and she’s not sure why.

 

“Oh my god,” Brittany mumbles and they both laugh awkwardly. Brittany sighs before she cutely covers her face with her hands. Santana giggles as she shakes her head over and over again before pulling her hands away and shrugging. “I don’t know,” she says but Santana knows Brittany. She might not know her as well as she used to, but she knows when she’s hiding something.

 

“Liar,” she comments and Brittany’s cheeks blush instantly.

 

She shakes her head quickly. Too quickly. Even for a drunk person. Santana’s still able to see the discomfort of the truth in her features, deep in her eyes.

 

“Liar,” Santana says again and she laughs to lighten the mood. “C’mon, you’re the one that started this sexual overshare. Tell the truth.”

 

For a moment, through the haze of rum and whiskey, Santana wonders why she cares so much. It barely takes her a second to realize that she just wants something that reminds Brittany that she moved on first; that she started dating Sam and falling for him way before Santana had drunk sex with Quinn Fabray. She just wants something that puts them back on a level playing field because Brittany still looks disappointed and Santana hates it.

 

As usual, it never works out in her favor.

 

“September 7,” Brittany says quietly and Santana’s confused until she continues. Brittany rubs uncomfortably at her forehead and shrugs around a mirthless laugh. “September 7, 2012.”

 

Santana’s mouth drops, her stomach drops, her heart absolutely plummets. She swallows hard because suddenly she can’t really breathe and forces herself up onto her elbows to look curiously over at Brittany.

 

“But we were…” she whispers before the words fail her and she shakes her head. “We were still…”

 

Brittany nods. “I know.”

 

Santana copies her nod and presses a hand to her throat like it might help the words. “So, the last time you had—you had…”

 

“It was with you,” Brittany says without preamble and Santana glances up at her, brown eyes getting stuck in blue like a fly in honey. Brittany smiles except her shoulders are tense and her expression is scared. She plays with her fingers and averts her gaze before she speaks. “Don’t you remember? It was the second weekend you’d come home from Louisville. Your parents were still at work.”

 

Santana nods, mostly because she doesn’t want Brittany to continue. She doesn’t need be Brittany to tell her what their last time was like. She can remember it without even having to try and it’s hard enough in her own head without hearing Brittany remind her. Her parents were going to be home late so Brittany had come over after school. She was wearing a red tank top and grey sweatpants and her hair was down. They didn’t even speak beyond muttering a quick hello. Brittany had bit her lip and taken Santana’s hand to lead her upstairs. Santana’s sheets were white because they were her mother’s spares and it was strange. Brittany had looked beautiful and clean. It had been hard to see her so naked against the stark background. It was hard to not kiss her softly and whisper how much she missed her. It was even harder not to go slow and take her time.

 

Looking back, that’s her biggest regret: not going slow, not knowing it was the last time, not relishing and remembering every single thing.

 

“I don’t understand,” Santana whispers, her head shaking in confusion. “I mean, how could—why? I don’t understand—”

 

“We wanted to wait…” Brittany tells her. “ _I_ wanted to wait.”

 

Santana’s breathing turns heavy. She doesn’t know whether she’s going to cry of have a heart attack. She clenches a hand to her chest as her eyes narrow. The wave of unexpected emotion is too much and she doesn’t know what to do. It’s hard to reconcile the truth with what she’s spent months convincing herself off. She feels like she doesn’t know anything anymore.

 

She feels like every excuse, every reason, every base of every answer she’s had over the past fifteen months is crumbling away.

 

Everything is crumbling and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

 

She drinks to stem the guilt.

 

//

 

In the back of her mind, she vaguely thinks that maybe they should stop laughing so loudly until she remembers that half the people in their building left the city for the holidays last week. She doesn’t care, exactly, but she knows that if Mrs. Sharpe on the first floor wasn’t visiting her nephew in Florida, she’d be knocking on their door at 9am tomorrow asking them to keep the noise down next time.

 

And it’s not like they can exactly control themselves. Santana’s past the point where she can control her actions anymore and can only slightly think them through. She’s sure that Brittany’s just the same.

 

She’s not sure if they’re past the point where they remember everything yet, but she knows she’s past the point of caring about anything.

 

“Truth or dare,” Brittany slurs with a giggle before tipping the bottle to her lips.

 

Santana reaches for the bottle and Brittany gives it to her before she answers. “Hmmm… dare,” not liking truth questions anymore. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.

 

Brittany rolls over and reaches for the hat of dares. It’s going to be empty soon and that makes her worried because they’re both still wearing their clothes. Their dares have been kind of innocent up till now and she knows that’ll have to change eventually.

 

Brittany doesn’t look as she grabs one of the last few strips of paper and struggles to focus on it before giggling uncontrollably.

 

“What?” Santana says, tugging on Brittany’s ankle. She ends up with her hand stuck up the leg of her sweats but doesn’t mind because she’s preoccupied finding Brittany’s warm skin against the tips of her fingers. “What _is it_?” she whines.

 

Brittany turns the strip of paper around and shows it to her. Santana has to blink to focus on it too. “’Perform a striptease for the room. See if you can go a whole song without getting naked’,” Brittany reads before Santana snatches it from her. “Now who’s a stripper drunk.”

 

Santana stares at the people even though she still can’t really focus on it. It could say that she’s one a million dollars for all she knows. She doesn’t actually really care. At all.

 

If anything tells her that she should maybe be drinking some water, it’s that.

 

“Where am I going to perform a fucking striptease?” she says and scoffs, her face screwing up.

 

Brittany pushes herself up and stands, swaying for a moment before steadying herself. She stumbles over to where Santana’s iPod dock is before finding a song. Santana doesn’t really recognize the song but Brittany dances over to her before taking her hand.

 

She pulls her up and their bodies bump against each other until Brittany guides Santana to step up onto their coffee table. Santana looks down at her and watches as Brittany settles her back down on the couch in front of before grabbing the bottle. Brittany takes a gulp before grinning up at her. She already looks like she’s enjoying this too much and, if Santana’s honest, that’s what makes her hips start to sway.

 

By the first pop and bend of her hips, Brittany’s tongue is poking through her teeth. Santana moves to the music and watches Brittany as she looks at her. Her eyes are everywhere and Santana smirks when she whoops.

 

“I thought this was a striptease…” Brittany slurs before swallowing and biting her bottom lip and whooping again.

 

It’s all the encouragement that Santana needs. She puts more effort into her moves, concentrating hard on not looking sloppy, even though she probably does. Her fingers push down at the waistband of her sweatpants and put the see-through fabric of her underwear on display. Brittany’s eyes sparkle when they see it and Santana carries on teasing the sweatpants down until they’re at mid-thigh where she pushes them off the whole way. She kicks them at Brittany who catches them and gives another whoop of appreciation.

 

“Get it, shawty,” she mutters and Santana laughs as she reaches for her t-shirt, lifting it until it’s just below her boobs and running her fingers over her stomach. Blue eyes follow her hands and it makes it easier to watch Brittany’s reactions. The room feels like it’s vibrating and Santana grins as Brittany shifts just a little forward. Santana uses her new angle as an advantage and teases her t-shirt up a little higher. It works how she wants it to. The fabric of her shirt strokes over her nipples and Brittany realizes she isn’t wearing a bra. Santana has to bite her own lip and she dips down again, thrusting her back in Brittany’s direction. She stands back up and pushes her shirt up higher, flashing her chest to where Brittany can’t see. She’s sure she hears Brittany mutter something but the music is too loud. Santana drops her hips again at the same time she lets go of her t-shirt. Her hands go up to her hair and when she turns around, Brittany’s sat back against the couch shaking her head and biting down on her lip.

 

The song ends before Santana can go any further and switches to something slower that breaks through the mood. Santana giggles and steps back down, flopping down onto the couch beside Brittany. She has no idea where her sweatpants are but she doesn’t care. She grins at Brittany and crosses her ankles as she rests her feet on the coffee table.

 

“Truth or dare, Pierce?” she pants and Brittany just shakes her head with pink cheeks.

 

Her eyes trace down Santana’s body, from her neck to her chest to the long length of her legs.

 

“Dare,” she says in her quietest, thickest voice.

 

Santana smirks before reaching for the hat. The smirk only slightly falters when she takes out her dare and struggles to read it.

 

“Play two rounds topless,” Santana reads, humming her amusement in her words.

 

Brittany rolls her eyes and doesn’t even pause before reaching for the bottom of her shirt. She pulls it over her head in one swift motion and Santana inhales quickly when she catches her first sight of Brittany’s chest. Her eyes dart down to perky pink nipples before she realizes what she’s doing and looks back up.

 

Brittany’s expression is smug and drunk. She smirks before she speaks. “Truth or dare, Shawty.”

 

Her eyes drop down to Brittany’s chest and she clears her throat at what she sees, speaks without thinking. “Truth.”

 

Brittany moves closer and Santana’s eyes follow her chest as it gets closer. A hand lands on Santana’s bare thigh and she wishes momentarily that it was just as innocent if she were to lay a hand on Brittany’s chest.

 

“If you could do one thing differently,” Brittany says softly and it’s so soft and clear that, in any other instance and if she hadn’t seen how much Brittany’s drunk, she’d question how drunk she was. “What one thing would you do differently?”

 

Santana’s too busy tracing her eyes over Brittany’s chest, her waist, her hips. She follows a line with her eyes, all the way up to Brittany’s neck and has to swallow and bite her lip to stop herself from doing something she shouldn’t. She feels like she can see everything and hates it because she finds new freckles she’s never seen before too quickly. There’s one settled just below her left collarbone that is already driving Santana crazy.

 

“I’d notice more,” she whispers suddenly and it’s not until the words leave her lips that she realizes how true they are.

 

If she could do one thing differently, she’d notice more. She’d notice the freckle on Brittany’s collarbone. She’d notice that Brittany was dating Sam before Tina Cohen-Chang called her and told her. She’d notice that she’d really lost Brittany before it was too late. She’d notice how tense things were with her girlfriend before they broke up. She’d notice that Brittany felt left behind and invite her to Louisville. She’d notice all the things that she missed, right back to when Brittany failed the first time. She’d go back and she’d notice all the things that got her here instead of where she wanted to be.

 

Brittany nods like she understands what Santana means. “Yeah?” she says and Santana nods softly.

 

“Yeah,” she says before she forces herself to snap out of it. She looks up into Brittany’s eyes and loves how they flutter when they meet. “Truth or dare,” she whispers.

 

Brittany’s mouth quirks as she keeps studying Santana. “Dare,” she nods.

 

Santana reaches into the hat without looking away. She brings the paper up to her eyes and studies it before reading aloud. “Give another player a lapdance,” she reads and, without warning, Brittany pushes her back and straddles her. Her head snaps back against the couch and she breathes out unsteadily. “Woah…”

 

“Don’t move,” Brittany says playfully and stands up to cross the room. Her sweatpants are low on her hips and Santana can see the top of her ass. Her bare back is too much and as Brittany changes the song, Santana’s sure that she’ll never ever be drunk enough to cope with this. Especially, when Brittany steps back over and straddles her again. Her hips move rhythmically to the music and Santana’s hands twitch to touch her hips. She tries until Brittany shakes her head and pushes up onto her knees until Santana’s level with her chest.

 

“No touching,” she says and when she spins around, it’s harder. Blond hair flows down her back and all Santana wants to do is lean forward and push it away to find the back of Brittany’s neck. She wants to find it and kiss and wrap her arms around her. It kills her that she can’t.

 

Hips press back into her, swaying from side to side, and all Santana can do is throw her head back and try to breathe. It’s harder than she wants it to be. She closes her eyes but opens them when she feels her glasses being lifted from her face. Brittany slips them onto her face and it’s hotter than it should be, especially when Brittany hovers her face over Santana’s. She stretches her arms above her head and pushes her body against Santana’s.

 

Santana has no idea how she gets to the end of the song but she does. She’s seconds away from shaking but she makes it and Brittany grins at her as she climbs off her lap. She grabs the bottle of whiskey and sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of Santana. She takes a drink before smirking at Santana and speaking. “Truth or dare?”

 

Santana leans forward and reaches to pluck her glasses back from Brittany’s face. She puts them back on with one hand before handing Brittany the hat for an answer. Brittany grins.

 

“Keep an ice cube on someone’s stomach until it melts with your nose,” Brittany reads before giggling. “Good thing I’m not wearing a shirt,” she comments before standing up. “I’ll go get some ice.”

 

//

 

It’s the longest five minutes of her life. Brittany lays on the coffee table in front of her and she keeps her eyes on the ice cube instead of Brittany’s skin. It’s already hard enough to concentrate being this close. She can smell the salt in her sweat and feel the warmth of her body as the ice melts and drips over her stomach.

 

Her tongue aches to poke out and just soak up the moisture, even though it’s not the moisture that her tongue wants, and she closes her eyes to stave off the need.

 

“It’s really cold,” Brittany squeaks. Her hands rest just under her chest, seconds away from cupping her breasts and it obscures Santana’s view enough that she can concentrate better. One hand moves to rest on the back of Santana’s head and, for a minute, all Santana wants to do is turn her face and nuzzle into Brittany’s skin. All she wants to do is settle down and sleep right here but when her nose finally bumps against Brittany’s skin and the dare is over, she realizes she can’t. “Thank God that’s over,” Brittany giggles, reaching for her shirt to wipe away the cold water. “How’s your nose?”

 

Santana rubs her hand over her nose but it’s not as cold as she thought it would be. Her face is hot enough that she barely even noticed its temperature.

 

“It’s fine,” she smiles before sighing. “Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare,” Brittany says without even thinking about it. Her hair is wild and messy and Santana’s sure she can put her shirt on now but she hasn’t. She tosses it aside and hands Santana the hat.

 

Santana swallows hard when she reads the last piece of paper that sits in the bottom of the hat.

 

“Double Body Shot Dare,” she reads carefully. “Do two body shots off another player. Pick a spot each.”

 

Brittany reaches for the bottle and brings it closer to them. It probably only has enough for two more shots in it. She reaches for Brittany’s hand and tugs her to stand up before swapping their seats. Santana sits on the edge of the coffee table and waits for Brittany’s lead, watching her as she goes to the kitchen and grabs salt and some cut off lemon from earlier. It’s not even the right stuff but neither of them care.

 

“You pick first,” Brittany smiles but Santana sees the nerves. She has to fight the urge to grab the bottle and drain the last of it because she can feel some senses returning slightly. She can feel her thoughts coming back to her through her base actions. She can feel her mind trying to regain control. It shocks Santana when she fights against the inhibitions and lets her body act on instinct. She lays back against the table and pushes up her shirt to reveal her stomach.

 

As she looks down she sees Brittany drop to the floor on her knees. Hands hit Santana’s thighs and part her legs so that Brittany can get in between them. It’s such a familiar action usually born in different circumstances and Santana swallows, thinking about the mouth that’s about to be on her. She stops when Brittany’s fingers pull at the waistband of her underwear and tug it down a little. Brittany reaches for the salt and Santana holds her breath as she pours a line down her navel. It dips into her bellybutton and she feels all the muscles from her chest downwards begin to clench in anticipation.

 

“Ready?” Brittany asks and Santana feels the word more than she hears it. She nods quickly, almost eagerly, and hands reach up and grab her by the curve of her waist. They hold her still and keep her back flat against the coffee table. Santana’s fingers flatten against the wood and her eyes close. At the first feel of Brittany’s tongue against her skin, she shivers and struggles to breathe. Her body jolts despite how much she was anticipating it. She gasps in a breath and it’s harsh and high-pitched. It already almost sounds like a moan and Brittany flattens her tongue against Santana’s skin because of it. She takes long, broad strokes tracing the line of salt from top to bottom and over again. They remind Santana of long, broad strokes that used Brittany used to make someplace else and her stomach muscles clench to go unnoticed in their shaking.

 

It doesn’t work and Brittany’s hands move to press against them. Santana tries her hardest not to let them flutter under Brittany’s palms but she fails miserably, especially when Brittany pauses and nudges her nose against her skin. She pants against her and it’s warm and wet. It’s delicious and her hands move to hold Brittany where she is so she can relish it a while longer.

 

“I think I poured too much,” Brittany giggles breathlessly. Her tongue laps roughly. Santana doesn’t know how she’s doing it or why because it must taste disgusting but she licks her lips like she can’t get enough. Santana peers down her body at her and pushes Brittany’s hair out of the way. It’s been so long since she saw Brittany’s mouth near her skin, since she felt the warmth of her tongue.

 

The thoughts that rush through her head are too quick, too fast for her to fully process. She thinks she prefers that because she’s terrified of what she’d do if she could.

 

“Where’s the lemon?” Brittany pants and Santana shakes her head because she doesn’t even know where her toes are. Brittany’s face turns away from her and Santana feels the cool juice of the lemon hit her skin. It almost hurts after the feeling of Brittany’s warm tongue. She winces and pants, waiting for whatever happens next.

 

Santana’s hands fall from Brittany’s head when she sits up to retrieve the whiskey bottle. Her cheeks are warm and pink when Santana catches sight of them. Her eyes are dark as she tips the bottle to her lips and Santana just watches, not able to do much else, as she slowly takes half of the liquid.

 

“W-Where next?” she asks because she’s not sure if she can do this again. Her hands rest on her diaphragm and feel how deeply in pulls and pushes. It should be soothing but the air is so thick around them that it can’t be. Brittany’s eyes flutter over her body, over her thighs and across her chest. Santana knows that nowhere Brittany picks will be easy to handle, not unless she picks Santana’s hand and the likelihood of that happening with Brittany’s eyes looking at her like that is slim.

 

She doesn’t even answer her with words.

 

She parts Santana’s thighs further before shuffling in as close as she can. Her hands fall to Santana’s hips and curl around them until they feel secure before they tug her forward like she weighs nothing. Her hips rise off the wood and the feeling of her body sliding forward along the wood takes her breath away. She gasps when Brittany wraps Santana’s legs around her waist. Her center presses up against the muscles in Brittany’s stomach and slips until it nestles against Brittany’s pelvis.

 

Brittany takes her hand and pulls her up until their faces are level. All Santana can think about is that the last time their faces were this close things got weird. Except, Brittany looks determined. Her skin feels warm and her eyes are dark. She puts Santana’s hands on her shoulders and sweeps Santana’s dark hair away from her neck. She’s not sure what it is about the expression on her face but Santana feels safe. She doesn’t feel scared or worried. Brittany tugs on the collar of her t-shirt before she leans forward and licks a stripe up Santana’s neck. Santana gasps but doesn’t get to relish the feel for long before Brittany’s pulling away quickly to pour salt over the damp spot. Santana feels how it sticks to her skin and doesn’t argue when a wedge of lemon and the bottle are being pushed into her hands. She holds them and her eyes catch blue ones as Brittany studies her face from up close. Santana knows what she’s doing because she’s doing the same thing.

 

“Ready?” she whispers and Santana nods, licking her lips at the taste of Brittany’s breath on them. One hand supports Brittany against the table while the other wraps around Santana’s body and cradles the back of her head. Fingers tangle in her hair and Santana gasps when Brittany quickly dips down and licks her neck without warning.

 

Her whole body rocks into Brittany’s and Santana’s not sure why it feels so much better there than on her stomach. She turns her head towards Brittany and loves how her chin feels against Brittany’s skin. It’s like Brittany was made for that space and it’s without a thought that Santana wraps her arms around Brittany’s neck to keep her close. Her arms cross and she sighs, rocking her body against Brittany’s as Brittany’s other hand move to press against the base of her back. It guides the movements of Santana’s body and Santana gasps harshly, not ready for the feel of Brittany’s hand against her bare skin.

 

“Fuck,” she breathes and she can feel Brittany’s eyelashes flutter against her skin. Her body quivers with need and she tries to bring Brittany closer, hoping that it’ll make it go away, that it’ll snap her back into reality and remind her of how she should behave.

 

But all of that becomes too difficult when Brittany lets out a low groan of frustration and closes her lips over Santana’s skin. She sucks softly but greedily and it would be naïve to call it anything other than a kiss. Her hands begin to wander and she pushes at hair while pulling at the collar of her shirt. He reveals more skin and kisses every single little piece that she finds. The numbness that Santana felt before feels nonexistent as every single nerve-ending lights on fire. She pants and pushes into Brittany, not sure if she’s trying to move her away or get closer. She knows it’s the latter because she tightens her legs around Brittany’s waist and almost hoists herself up into her.

 

It’s not until one of the hands on her collar slips down between her breasts that she pulls away.

 

“You forgot the lemon,” she pants but all she cares about is how swollen Brittany’s lips are, how narrow her gaze is. Santana wants to bury her tongue between parted lips but she can’t so she reaches between them and guides the lemon to her mouth.

 

Brittany looks exhausted as she sucks at it. It drips down her chin and that just makes Santana want to kiss her more. For a moment, Santana can’t remember why she isn’t allowed to. She can’t remember those boundaries that she was so desperate to keep. She can’t remember anything but how good it feels to be this close. Her spare hand strokes Brittany’s hair from her face as the other guides the bottle to her mouth. Brittany drinks it lazily before Santana tosses it aside. Her hand cups Brittany’s cheek and she runs her thumb over the remnants on Brittany’s bottom lip without thinking. Brittany’s tongue flicks out at it before she dips her head back down to Santana’s neck.

 

It feels better than the last time.

 

It feels like more.

 

Brittany’s hand finds her chin, cups her cheek and brings her closer. She pants against her skin and it feels too much like Santana’s losing control. Brittany’s tongue licks up her neck, kisses litter against her jaw, and Santana can’t handle it anymore. She pushes at Brittany’s shoulders to ease her away.

 

When their eyes meet, the expression in Brittany’s is so familiar, so deep, so inevitable, that it makes Santana stop. She breathes unsteadily, continues to rock her body like an ebbing wave against Brittany’s, and everything feels as clear as it always does. Her fingers push blond hair from blue eyes and, even through the heat and the alcohol and the desperation, Santana feels her heart jump into her throat. Her expression must change because Brittany’s flickers with concern before she holds Santana closer.

 

“Truth or dare?” Santana whispers desperately and Brittany looks at her for a moment before gulping and clearing her throat.

 

Her voice is thick with want and need. “It’s my turn to ask that,” she says.

 

Santana shakes her head and surges closer to rest their foreheads together. “Just answer the question,” she demands.

 

Brittany notices the tone and her hand clutches at Santana’s hip. “Truth.”

 

“What’s the most—the most turned on you’ve ever been?” Her breath hitches and she isn’t ready when Brittany hoists her higher around her waist. She holds her breath and she doesn’t know what’s going on when Brittany pushes up to put one foot on the floor until she’s flat on her back on the coffee table.

 

Brittany presses her hips into Santana’s center until she moans.

 

“Right now,” she breathes.

 

When Santana surges up to kiss Brittany at the same time she pushes down, it feels inevitable. Brittany sighs and Santana lets out a solitary sob.

 

Their lips meet and it feels like coming home.

 

//

 

Brittany’s tongue dips into her mouth and it’s better than she remembers. She tastes a bitter mix of salty and sweet, spicy from the whiskey and something else entirely Brittany. One of her hands cradles Santana’s head away from the wood of the table and it makes her feel special in a way that Brittany’s only ever made her feel. Hands touch her like she’s made of glass and Santana clutches at the bare skin of Brittany’s back to bring her closer. It feels better than she remembers and when Brittany starts kissing and sucking down her jaw, her nails scratch down the skin without thinking as she clambers for something to keep her steady.

 

“Fuck…” she pants and it makes Brittany’s mouth more confident. Teeth graze Santana’s neck and she moans helplessly, her legs wrapping tighter around Santana’s waist. She feels like she shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she should because Brittany seems subdued by it all, calm almost. It makes her nervous. She feels like she needs to apologize for the whimpers that come from her mouth. “S—sorry,” she groans and bites her bottom lip to try and garner some control back. “I’m—I’m really drunk… I’m really drunk and we shouldn’t—we should be…”

 

Her words trail off into a loud moan when Brittany bites down hard on her neck and she pulls on Brittany’s hair to tug her away. Brittany nips at her bottom lip before soothing it with a lick of her tongue. Hands find the bottom of Santana’s shirt and tug at it desperately

 

“Shut the fuck up, Santana,” Brittany gasps breathlessly, pushing and forcing the fabric higher. Her hands reach for Santana’s chest, groping her shamelessly as Santana takes the shirt from her and lifts it over her head. Lips descend back to her neck, biting and sucking recklessly, not caring about the consequences. Santana feels bruises bloom into her skin but she doesn’t care; she pulls Brittany closer and urges her lower until there’s a hand cupping each of her breasts and a mouth sucking at her cleavage. She kisses back up to Santana’s face before she nips at her chin and all the way to her ear. She nips at it quickly. “I don’t _care_ …” she breathes. “I don’t care right now…”

 

Thumbs sweep over Santana’s nipples and she doesn’t care so much either. Her mouth drops open and she rocks into Brittany’s abs. She feels how wet she is and hears as Brittany moans when she notices. Everything feels hot and sticky, stifling, and Santana likes it best that way. She loves feeling like Brittany is everywhere. It makes her feel safe enough to lose all inhibitions.

 

“Please…” she whimpers desperately. “Please…”

 

A hand cups around her breast as Brittany’s kisses go lower and Santana’s breath hitches when a mouth encloses around her nipple. Lips suck at the skin and a tongue swirls around it. It makes Santana’s control unravel out of existence and her hips rock more desperately as her fingers wrap in Brittany’s hair and pull at it until they’re kissing again. It’s rough and desperate. Brittany sucks and bites at her top lip as her hand strokes over Santana’s chest and her stomach before curling around her waist and pushing down the back of her underwear. A hand grabs Santana’s ass and Santana already feels like she’s too far gone, ready.

 

She whimpers into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany kisses over her cheeks, just to keep contact. It’s only then that Santana realizes that Brittany’s shaking from head to toe, quaking with anticipation. Her nose pushes into Santana’s cheek and she breathes out unsteadily before speaking.

 

“I want to make you come,” she whispers and Santana’s eyes flutter. She nuzzles in closer and Santana wraps her arms around her middle just to keep her there. “Can I make you come?”

 

It makes Santana whimper again and she nods before she speaks. “Yeah,” she says and it’s almost a whine. “Please…”

 

Her hands reach to thread through Brittany’s hair, clutching her close as Brittany removes her underwear. Blue eyes study her in the lamp light and, usually Santana hates being looked at like this but, when it’s Brittany, it’s all she wants. She wants to be seen, she wants to be discovered, she wants to be as transparent as a new piece of glass.

 

She hates how slow Brittany’s going, how tentative her hands are being. It makes her worried that something’s wrong and she doesn’t want it to be wrong. She doesn’t even want to _think._ She just wants Brittany against her and inside her. She wants to feel Brittany and fall apart beneath her. She doesn’t want this soft exploration that makes her wonder. Not now. Not in these circumstances.

 

She wants the soft hands that are tracing every curve and contour of her body put to work between her legs. It’s been too long…

 

“Touch me,” she begs and she doesn’t care. She feels shameless and it won’t matter soon. “Please, please, touch me…”

 

Brittany kisses her first. She captures Santana’s bottom lip and sucks it until Santana’s sure it’s swollen and then she nips at it just to make sure Santana will remember in the morning. Her hand slips around to press between Santana’s hips, lowering steadily. At the first touch of Brittany’s soft fingers, Santana whimpers in relief. Fingers stroke through her for too quick amount of time, find her indescribably wet and enter her easily. She moans at the feeling, arches her back and offers Brittany her throat as it tips back against the hard wood of the table. Brittany mumbles unintelligible things against her skin and sucks kisses into her skin. A tongue sweeps out to catch the beads of sweat that Santana feels dripping into her cleavage as fingers pump too deliciously inside of her.

 

“More,” Santana whimpers. “Oh fuck, more… make me… make me come…”

 

Brittany shivers at the words and takes Santana’s nipple into her mouth around a gasp. She sucks at it and grazes her teeth over it until Santana’s hands are tugging at her shoulders and pulling her into a kiss. Santana feels the table creaking as Brittany’s thrusts increase and whimpers in time with the grunts that Brittany releases with each one.

 

Their kisses become sloppy, their movements too erratic and rough to keep up with them. Brittany sucks at her jaw before tucking her face into Santana’s neck. She sucks bruises into the skin between desperate gasps for breath and Santana wraps one arm around her back while the other tangles in her hair. It keeps her as close as possible and she can feel Brittany’s naked torso against her own, their skin sticking together with sweat, and it reminds her a thousand moments she’s desperate not to remember.

 

Brittany’s fingers move inside of her, slowing as they begin to tire. Santana can’t help but think about how long it’s been since Brittany did this, since she was with someone. It’s another thing that makes her feel special and she leans forward to kiss the crown of Brittany’s head, moaning when it starts slipping slower down her body.

 

Rough kisses litter the skin of her chest, moving down between her breasts to her stomach with licks and sucks. Brittany bites into the hard muscles of her stomach and it’s a weird mix of hurt and bursting pleasure. Brittany scratches down her thighs as she pants for breath, running her teeth over the protrusions of Santana’s hipbones. She bites and sucks and laves her skin against the marks she makes.

 

Santana gasps for breath and begs “please” over and over again. She wants it so much she’s almost crying, except she’s not sure what _it_ is? The feeling of deep overcomes her so intensely that it confused her. She struggles against the table, shifts her legs when Brittany’s shoulders try to fit between her thighs. Brittany’s tongue swirls patterns over her pelvis and lower and Santana parts her thighs, spreads them lewdly, placing one of her shoulder and the other off the side of the table. Brittany’s fingers move from inside and stroke over her, spreading the moisture she finds there. One hand pushes beneath Santana’s backside and guides her ass upwards to Brittany’s mouth. Brittany groans before she places one broad lick over her, from her ass to her clit and Santana’s thighs start shaking immediately, so unused to it that it’s too much.

 

And it’s like Brittany can tell that it’s too much because she withdraws her tongue and waits. Her nose presses against Santana’s clit, her breath hitting in all the right places and it’s still too much, just having her there. Santana feels herself starting to clench, desperate and searching for release, and when Brittany tentatively extends her tongue to taste her, she pushes at her shoulders because the feeling is too big, too full of feelings. It’ll be over too quick and she wants this to last just a little longer. Brittany presses one last kiss to her, pulling her clit into her mouth before releasing it, and climbs back atop her.

 

She kisses Santana deeply and her fingers slip back inside of her. Santana locks her ankles around Brittany’s ass and rocks her hips into her fingers. Her entire body feels like warm, liquid honey and Brittany pushes her hair from her face as Santana moans. She can feel the first flickering bursts of energy ready to release from her and bites down on Brittany’s bottom lip.

 

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna…” she tries but the feeling is so big it’s lodged in her throat. She gasps for breath and moans, clutching Brittany’s face close to hers. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come…” she hisses and Brittany kisses her long and hard and deep.

 

Her fingers speed up and a thumb sweeps up to press against her clit. “I know…” Brittany whispers and kisses her again.

 

It’s the last thing Santana needs before she feels like a billion atoms exploding. Her body tightens and arches. Her vision goes blurry behind her glasses and all she can see is the tiny smile on Brittany’s lips as Santana’s body remains suspended in pleasure for long moments. She leans down to kiss Santana’s chest and doesn’t stop until Santana’s comfortably laid back on the table and panting for breath.

 

“Oh my god,” Santana finally manages to breath. Her limbs feel heavy and hot. She wants to lean up and kiss Brittany but she doesn’t have the energy. “That was… that was…”

 

Brittany laughs and then her tongue is back in Santana’s mouth. Hands are on Santana’s hips, tugging her forward until legs are wrapped more tightly around Brittany’s waist. Brittany puts Santana’s arms around her neck before hands push at Santana’s back and force her upwards.

 

Brittany lifts her like she weighs nothing and laughs in her ear when Santana gasps and tightens her hold.

 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Brittany whispers.

 

Santana has no idea what she’s talking about but she can’t wait to find out.

 

//

 

Brittany gets a preoccupied standing right where they are and kissing her cleavage and palming at her ass. Santana clutches herself closer and hisses when she feels teeth on her skin, tugging Brittany back until she can bend down and kiss her awkwardly. It’s hot, too hot. Brittany’s legs buckle and she parades them aimlessly around the living room until Santana’s back hits something cold and hard.

 

Luckily it’s the wall nearest to her bedroom and not the window because Brittany wastes no time in pressing as hard as she can against her. She grinds their hips together and Santana’s still sensitive enough that it makes her feel overwhelmed quickly.

 

“I love watching you come,” Brittany whispers against her lips. Santana shivers and reaches her hands down Brittany’s back. She finds fabric when she tries to palm Brittany’s ass and hates it. She groans in frustration and Brittany grins, helping her as she tries to push them down. Once they’re low around her thighs, they fall, and Brittany pushes hard into Santana to keep her up as she kicks them and her underwear away.

 

Santana finds Brittany’s bare ass shortly after and it feels weird to say that she’s missed it but she has. Her nails curl into the soft flesh and Brittany sighs breathlessly into her cheek when she smooths her fingers over the skin. She kisses Santana’s cheek gently, nudges their noses together to get her attention and chuckles when Santana finally turns and captures her mouth.

 

They kiss softly and Santana pulls Brittany’s hips into her, rocking them together.

 

“Are you wet?” Santana breathes when Brittany kisses up to her eat and sucks it into her mouth. She smiles when Brittany nods quickly. “Good,” she whispers. “Cos I want to be inside of you…”

 

Brittany shakes her head and when she pulls back, Santana smirks because she’s biting her lip. The pressure against Santana’s body increases again and Brittany buries her face into her neck. One hand slides around from Santana’s hip forcing her to lock her ankles more securely around Brittany, before it slips between their bodies.

 

Fingers push inside of Santana without warning and her breath hitches as her body pushes up the wall at the force. Her toes curl and she’s sure Brittany laughs against her. A mouth appears at her ear and a tongue buries wetly inside of it. Santana groans in frustration and turns her face into Brittany as she speaks.

 

“I’m not done yet,” she whispers hotly. “And it’s rude to interrupt…”

 

Santana can’t speak because Brittany’s somehow repeatedly hitting that spot inside of her that makes everything else disappear. Her breath leaves her heavily and she can feel Brittany watching her carefully. She wants to open her eyes and would if she wasn’t so sure that they’d burst from her skull. Instead she pushes her hand into the hair at the back of Brittany’s hair and tugs her forward to kiss her roughly. Brittany grins against her lips and Santana can’t help but bask in the familiarity of _this_ Brittany. This Brittany is the Brittany who makes her feel like anything’s possible.

 

She’s not ready for when Brittany hoists her higher around her waist and pulls them back off the wall. It makes the fingers inside of her shift from where she wants them and she clutches at Brittany to make sure she doesn’t forget what she needs as Brittany guides them backwards into Santana’s bedroom. She lays her down on the bed and pushes her fingers back inside, even as she takes a step to look at her. She bends to press a kiss to Santana’s stomach and then pokes her tongue out to lick a path all the way back up to her mouth.

 

Santana opens her mouth to capture it when it gets there and moans as Brittany pumps and pumps inside of her, relentless and fierce.

 

“Don’t—Don’t stop,” Santana begs and it makes Brittany kiss her hard without warning.

 

Their foreheads press together and Brittany pushes their noses and chins together until Santana isn’t sure if she’s breathing in or breathing out.

 

“Never,” Brittany chokes and her spare hand reaches up to halo around Santana’s head before she cups her ear. Her nose nuzzles into the other ear and as Santana feels herself coming again, all she can hear is Brittany whispering an unending chant of “never” in her ear.

 

It overwhelms her more than she wants it to. Reality starts to seep into this dreamworld that they’ve somehow created and Santana reaches for Brittany’s hips and tugs until they bracket her own. Her hands stroke over Brittany’s shoulders, down her arms and around her waist. She touches her shamelessly, just her fingers stroking all the curves and spaces that she’s spent too long missing. Sobriety strikes her hard but she tries to fight it, knowing that she’ll probably not get this again. She already knows that the repercussions of this will be huge, that it’ll be history repeating itself again. She has a feeling that life won’t work in her favor this time.

 

“What are you doing?” Brittany whispers and Santana watches her eyelids flutter only to reach her hand up and stroke her thumbs over them once they’re closed.

 

Brittany leans into her and it makes Santana feel better about such an over-affectionate action.

 

“Interrupting,” Santana whispers in explanation. Brittany breathes in and out uneasily before falling forwards to clutch her fist into the sheets beside Santana’s head. Santana takes that as permission and strokes her fingers over Brittany’s cheek, loving how Brittany leans into the touch and kisses her palm.

 

She continues the touch down her neck and over her collarbones. She circles around the freckle she saw earlier and leans up to kiss it quickly. Brittany’s arms shake either side of her head but she doesn’t stop. She lifts the other hand to join the first and cups Brittany’s breasts, strokes her nipples with gentle thumbs before darting up to suck one into her mouth quickly. Brittany whimpers and it makes Santana feel happy and sad at the same time. She feels like she’s doing all the things she should have done that last time, just in case.

 

Her fingers find the ridges of Brittany’s ribs, counting them without even realizing. A hand strokes up her back and urges Brittany down when it presses between her shoulder blades. Brittany kisses her urgently, stuttering in her actions when Santana’s hands toy with her nipples and stroke over her ass. She gasps between whimpers and curls her arm beneath Santana’s neck to keep them as close as possible. Blue eyes watch her carefully and Santana stares up at them as her fingers strokes the soft skin at the back of Brittany’s right knee.

 

“Hi,” Santana whispers softly, looking for something she doesn’t recognize in Brittany’s expression. She wants to see proof that something—anything—has changed, but she can’t and it makes her bottom jaw tingle with the threat of tears. Her eyes suddenly no longer feel dry and she swallows because she doesn’t understand. Maybe she’s too drunk to remember.

 

Brittany worries her own bottom lip beneath her top one and her smile looks struggled when she squashes their noses together. “Hey,” she breathes timidly and it should be too much when Brittany quickly kisses her nose but it isn’t.

 

It’s not enough.

 

Santana’s glad when Brittany reaches down and takes her hand from behind her knee. She takes it in her own and guides it to the inside of her own thigh. She presses Santana’s hand flat against her skin and lets go. She knows that Santana knows what she wants and who is Santana to deny her, not when it’s been four hundred and seventy-four days since someone—since _she_ —gave Brittany this.

 

She strokes through her like a blind person reading braille. She knows every little difference and nuance. As soon as she’s touching her, Santana doesn’t need to remember.

 

She gasps and Brittany moans. Brittany’s arm beneath Santana’s neck reaches to clutch at her shoulder while her other hand cups Santana’s cheek. Her mouth is parted, shocked and Santana doesn’t have to move far to kiss her perfectly bowed top lip. She sucks on it softly, gently admiring how wet Brittany is until Brittany’s hips start to shift, looking for more.

 

Soft little whimpers leave Brittany’s mouth and Santana makes her own soft little noises to console her. She presses her hand to Brittany’s backside to steady her and doesn’t have to move that much to find herself buried in Brittany. They both moan at the feeling. Brittany winces as the intrusion after so long but eases into it quickly, her muscles clenching and pulling at Santana’s fingers for more. The feeling makes Santana feel seconds away from losing control.

 

She moves her fingers and Brittany’s face contorts in pleasure at the feeling. Her brow furrows and her lips part. Blue eyes darken and her hips start to wriggle against the touch, rocking into it slowly. Santana’s arm wraps around Brittany’s waist and when her neck arches back, she kisses her chin lazily, always watching.

 

“Right there…” Brittany whimpers and Santana nods because she knows. Her fingertips rub the same spot inside Brittany until she clenches too tightly and Santana pulls back. She pulls back and circles Brittany’s entrance, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit. Brittany’s forehead falls against hers and Santana repeats the actions, stroking inside of Brittany until her body threatens to cave in and retreating. It makes Brittany moan a moan that’s deep, carnal and beautiful. Her thighs shake and Santana struggles to keep kissing her. She’s so breathless that she can barely hold herself up. Her whimpers are almost sobs and Santana scratches her nails up her back until she can tangle her fingers in Brittany’s hair. She pulls her into a kiss and keeps it going, even when Brittany isn’t kissing back.

 

Brittany’s whole body is pushing down onto her fingers and Santana groans wishing she could go deeper. Their thrusts slow until Brittany stops and rocks her hips, finding purchase. Santana rubs furiously and Brittany kisses her like she’ll never get to do it again as her thighs shake uncontrollably. Santana pushes the heel of her hand against Brittany’s clit and, with a cry, Brittany spasms and clenches around her, her teeth biting into Santana’s bottom lip as she does.

 

It’s so beautiful that it hurts and Santana can’t do anything but lie there and let the exhaustion start to kick in. Brittany kisses her desperately, like it might never happen again, and Santana doesn’t know what to do other than reach over and pull the blanket from under her pillow. She lays it over them and Brittany’s whimpers almost sound like sobs. Their heads turn on to rest their cheeks on the pillow and when Brittany pulls back, Santana’s exhausted.

 

She wishes she could stay up and never let tomorrow come. She wishes she could never reach sobriety. Her eyes flutter and her heart lodges in her throat as she realizes that she only has a few more seconds before sleep kicks in and it’s over. Her expression falls and she watches Brittany as she kisses her forehead, then her cheek, her nose, then her mouth.

 

 _This is it_ , she thinks as her eyes close just a little slower and she hates herself.

 

She blinks one last time and prays the image before her develops into her memory like a photograph.

 

She knows it won’t be hard. 

 

Photographs are made from negatives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Control

 

When she wakes up, all she’s aware of is the fact that everything hurts.

 

She registers the most obvious things first: Her head is pounding and her eyes sting even though she still has them closed. There’s a dull ache in her pelvis and a familiar pang of pain in her legs when she shifts them even a little bit. Her stomach feels the worst kind of uneasy, empty and acidic. She really, really needs to pee and it’s like everything inside of her wants to bail at once.

 

The less obvious things come next and they’re different. They make her feel worse. They make her have to think and she would groan if she wasn’t sure that it would make her head hurt more and her stomach give in. She notices them slowly and then all at once. She notices that her jaw is aching and then that her teeth hurt, that it feels like someone has filled the blood vessels in her face with lead because it feels so heavy.

 

Her senses move quickly downward after that, wanting to figure out all the strange sensations. Except, a lot of them aren’t strange—they’re not even new—they’re just out of place. Like, the weird tingling pain on the skin of her neck and shoulders, all the way down to her stomach—she knows that feeling and she knows that there are dark, blue and purple bruises on her neck that won’t turn green for a while. It makes her swallow and her breathing speeds up to keep in time with the quickness of her heart. She almost reaches to touch her skin but doesn’t for fear of what she might find. She just feels her body, lets her knowledge of it tell her what’s different.

 

She can feel the burn of the broken skin on her shoulder and her back, sporadically placed where fingernails have been. She feels a slick layer of sweat, grime and dried fluid that’s not entirely her own covering her body. Her lips are sore, a mixture of bruised and stinging. If she licks them, she thinks that she would be able to remember the most wonderful taste in the world, painting stories on her lips.

 

Her senses make her remember things and her breathing shakes, not wanting to think about what comes next, even though she can’t not. Her face buries deeper into the pillow and she squeezes her eyes closed.

 

Feeling this feeling is one of the worst things and she’s done it too many times. When she was younger, it wasn’t a good feeling because doing it meant that she had to figure out if it was someone new or if it was just Puckerman again. As she got a little older, it turned into something scary. Waking up in her best friend’s bed, it was the only way she could tell if what had happened was real or not. She pretended that it wasn’t for so long that, when everything changed, this feeling—this wonderful, stretched, claimed and full feeling—was the best feeling in the world. It was wonderful and it was affirming. It reminded her of where she was and whose she was.

 

It almost feels wrong that, right now—sharing that feeling with the same person who made her feel that wonderful—all she feels is those same empty feelings she felt back when she was pretending. It makes her feel like she’s the dumbest, worst person in the world. Her stomach feels more uneasy, her head buries further into the pillow and she breathes in sharply against the mix of the physical and emotional pain.

 

Something shifts nervously in the bed beside her and she freezes, clenching her fist in the pillow beside her head before she slowly opens her eyes.

 

And she can’t see, at first. Her eyes squint and she doesn’t know what’s happening. She’s sure she could see before she fell asleep and, as her eyes cross, she realizes that she’s not wearing her glasses. It’s not until they’re pushed onto the pillow beside her hand that she knows what happened to them. It makes her cheeks blush and she picks them up and slips them on easily.

 

“I—I didn’t want you to break them…” Brittany whispers timidly and Santana doesn’t really hear because all she can process at that moment is how Brittany looks—her expression, her appearance, her demeanor—and what it all means.

 

It’s such an old expression. She’s seen it so many times. She doesn’t think she remembers the first time she saw it; it’s kind of transformed over the years and become more developed. The feeling within it has become more engrained, deeper. The guilt, the anxiety, the disappointment. Brittany’s face looks tense and relaxed at the same time, like she doesn’t know what to do with it. Her eyes are dark and they’re begging things. One of the few times Santana clearly remembers seeing that expression is the first time they slept together when Brittany was still with Artie. Brittany looked at her with those dark, desperate blue eyes and didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to; Santana knew what she wanted—a way-out, an excuse, a get out of cheat free card.

 

She doesn’t think she can blame it on the plumbing being different this time. She knows that Brittany will never buy the zip code rule either. It’s cheating, whatever way you look at it, and Santana holds the sheets to her chest as she rolls over and avoids Brittany’s gaze, staring up at her ceiling instead.

 

She speaks without thinking and says the best thing that comes into her head.

 

“We—we shouldn’t have done that…” she mumbles as she scratches under her chin until she feels her fingers hit some sort of bruise and pulls them away. “I mean…” she continues. “I didn’t _want_ to do that. I was really drunk and I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.” She turns to glance somewhere above Brittany’s head and swallows. “Things don’t have to get weird. We can just pretend it never happened and move on. It doesn’t have to mean anything…”

 

She keeps staring above Brittany’s head as she waits for a response but one doesn’t come. She blinks and swallows again, forcing away the nausea and the words she really wants to say, before turning her eyes to Brittany’s face.

 

She’s confused by what she finds, even though she’s not sure what she expected. She knows that she didn’t expect pink cheeks or glassy blue eyes, for that same old expression to be gone only to be replaced with a deeper hurt and sadness rather than the usual resignation and relief.

 

She pushes up onto her elbows as Brittany breathes out a mirthless laugh of disbelief instead. She tries not to look as Brittany sits up but the bare skin of her back and the curve of her ass is all Santana can see and it’s hard to look away. Brittany picks up underwear that Santana doesn’t think she was wearing last night before she finds a shirt that Santana knows she definitely wasn’t wearing, and pulls them on.

 

They make Santana wonder how long Brittany’s been awake, if she even slept, why she would come back if she’d already left the bed already, and what that would even mean. Santana furrows her brow in confusion and watches as Brittany turns and haphazardly begins fastening the buttons on her shirt. Lithe fingers push wavy blond hair from a slowly reddening face and Santana wants to speak but she’s not sure what she would say. She wishes the lithe fingers were her own.

 

“You know, Santana,” Brittany chuckles and the irritation is right there on the surface of the low tone of her voice. “A thank you or good morning would have been _fine_.”

 

Santana’s jaw drops at the words and she watches as Brittany gets up and marches out of the room. The sheet slips from around her body and, instead of worrying about her best friend, Santana wonders how she even got underneath the covers.

 

She stops when Brittany’s bedroom door slams shut. Instead, she starts wondering what the hell is going on.

 

//

 

Santana sits there staring at the doorway for fifteen minutes before she actually moves.

 

The covers pool around her waist and she should feel how cold it still is but she doesn’t. She can’t. She’s too busy trying to figure out what’s going on, what Brittany meant, what she wants, what everything _means_ ,to care about anything else.

 

She doesn’t get it.

 

What does Brittany want her to say? What does she want her to _do_? She’s not sure what Brittany meant by those last words, by that clear show of anger and annoyance. Does she just expect Santana not to talk about the giant pink elephant wedged between them and act like it’s any other morning they’ve woken up naked together? Brittany has a _boyfriend_ —a boyfriend who loves her and wants her and should be the person Brittany’s waking up with—and Santana can’t forget that, no matter what she does.

 

Does Brittany expect things to be how they used to be, back when nobody knew but everyone suspected, back when there were boys and beards and beautiful lies that hurt? Does she not realize that things will never be able to go back to that ever again? There’s no way that they can go back to that. There would be no way of hiding it. Not now. Everything changed when they finally got together. It was one of Santana’s only reservations about them being together that, if they ever broke up, their friendship would never be the same. It would be forever questioned if they were lucky and in complete disrepair if they weren’t.

 

Except, back then, when forever had felt like a real and wonderful possibility, those reservations had been easily and quickly forgotten. They’d been just as quickly remembered in the days after that moment in the choir room when everything broke. As much as Santana had tried to convince herself and Brittany that their relationship wasn’t over, it was, and their friendship had gone with it.

 

And if she’s honest, Santana missed her friendship with Brittany more than she missed anything else. She missed having someone to talk to about everything and nothing, worries and wishes, hopes and dreams. There was no one to off-load on, no one to laugh with, nobody who understood her. Back then, in those first few weeks, stuck in her Kentucky dorm-room, Santana wasn’t worried about the fact that she could no longer kiss Brittany. She was more worried that she didn’t have anyone to tell that she was lost and scared and that she didn’t like where her life was heading anymore.

 

 When Brittany sent her that text message asking her for a favor all those months ago, that’s all she was thinking about.

 

She was going to get her best friend back as best she could and she was going to do everything she could to make her stay. She hates that nothing worked out how she wanted, that everything always seems to go wrong to just ruin them more and more.

 

She knows that, if what happened last night continues, there will be no fixing it. It’ll break them and she’ll lose her.

 

That’s why last night has to be forgotten.

 

That’s what she has to explain to Brittany.

 

//

 

She manages to pull clean underwear up her legs before that plan fails.

 

She’s sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from her bedroom door when she hears Brittany’s bedroom door open and her feet marching heavily across the apartment. She waits for the front door to slam, for the shower to start—something—but doesn’t expect it when her already open bedroom door gets pushed to its limits and slams back against the wall. Santana jolts, reaching for the sheets to cover her chest, and instantly feels ridiculous for the action. A surge of panic and fear prickles at the surface of her skin and she swallows nervously as Brittany begins to speak.

 

“You know what? No. I’m not letting you talk to me like that…”

 

Brittany’s cheeks are red, her eyes dark and wild. She’s fully-dressed and upon seeing the anger in her expression, all Santana can do is utter out a quiet, “Britt…”

 

It only proves to make things worse.

 

“No,” Brittany says and a chuckle leaves her mouth except it isn’t a chuckle at all. Nothing’s funny, just hurt and angry. “Just shut the fuck up and listen, okay—” Santana’s jaw drops but Brittany’s expression looks so angry that Santana’s sure that she’s blind to everything around her. “You _don’t_ get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to treat me like I’m some slut you just met in a bar, like I’m _nothing_ … You don’t get to tell me what to do, what to pretend, what to feel. You don’t get to make me feel like this.”

 

Santana doesn’t speak. She’s not even sure what she’d say or how Brittany would react. She just stands up and heads for her dresser, finding a t-shirt that she quickly pulls on. She can hear the heavy pant of Brittany’s breathing, worked up and hurt. She swallows and finds a tie for her hair, pulling it up into a mess atop her head before she turns around and folds her arms.

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Brittany,” she says quietly. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, here.”

 

“The right thing for _who_ , Santana?!” Brittany says and it’s so loud that it’s almost a shout. “Yourself?! God, I’m so sick of standing back and letting you decide what happens between us. I’m fucking tired of pretending like you’re the only damn one of us who has things to be scared of! This isn’t only about you, Santana!”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Santana asks, screwing her face up with the anger that brews up inside her body. “You think I’m not aware of _who_ this is about? Because I can assure you, I am _completely_ fucking aware that this is beyond me, Britt. Do not worry about that because it’s _all_ I can think about.”

 

Brittany releases another mirthless chuckle and steps in close, so close that Santana almost staggers back. “Then why aren’t you thinking about _me_ , Santana?!” She says, her voice raising unsteadily with each word. She’s near enough that Santana can see the upset that the anger is attempting to conceal. She presses a hand to her chest as her eyes bear into Santana’s. “Why aren’t you thinking about _me_ when you tell me that what happened between us doesn’t mean anything? Do you think that’s what I want to hear? Do you think that makes me feel _better_?”

 

“I’m not trying to make you feel better!” Santana shouts and her arms drop so that her fists can curl at her sides. “I’m trying to do the right fucking thing!”

 

Before she knows what’s happening, hands push at Santana’s shoulders, shoving her once, then twice. “For _who_ , Santana?!” Brittany shouts as Santana staggers backwards as she’s shoved again. “For WHO?!”

 

Without even thinking about it, Santana does the last thing she ever wanted to do and pushes Brittany back. “FOR YOU!” she screams, as she pushes Brittany back far enough that she can put some distance between them. “FOR US!” she shakes her head and she wants to cry. “Who fucking else?! You think I do all this shit for _me_?! I’m trying to fucking protect you, Brittany. I’m always trying to fucking protect you and stop you from getting hurt.”

 

Brittany shakes her head quickly, her feet pacing in a weird box-shape that’s constantly changing shape and getting bigger. “Telling me that it doesn’t mean anything is your way of not hurting me?” she says and her voice is weirdly calm. “And, what? Breaking up with me too? Leaving me when you said that you wouldn’t and proving me right? That’s your way of not hurting me?” Santana looks at her feet and tries to not listen to how a soft broken noise leaves Brittany’s throat. “You don’t think that both those things won’t nearly kill me?”

 

Santana ignores her and shakes her head in refusal to understand what she means. She rests her hands on her hips and tries to tell herself that she’s doing the right thing for the ten millionth time. She tries to remember that she’s only ever done her best. She’s only ever done everything she can to keep her promise.

 

“I can’t do this again,” she mutters because it’s true. She can’t go through this again only for it to end up the same way. The circumstances never change. There will always be something in the way. There will always be a boy or distance or school or work or _life_. There will always be _something_ that will make Brittany want to hate her again and again and she can’t watch that happen once more.

 

Brittany shakes her head and snorts in disbelief. Santana feels herself getting angrier and angrier because it feels like Brittany saw this coming, like this is going exactly how she thought it would.

 

“Yeah?” Brittany says sarcastically. “And what bullshit reason do you have to be a coward this time?”

 

Santana feels her anger shoot of the scale in less than a second. Her eyes go wide and angry, she clenches her fists and steps in warningly. She’s never wanted to actually cause harm to Brittany before but right now she thinks that she could.

 

“Fuck you, Britt,” she breathes in warning. “You have a fucking boyfriend.”

 

Santana’s hand instantly presses against her chest, not expecting the sudden hit of pain that clutches at her chest. She gasps shallowly and shakes her head, the reality of the words hitting her harder than they have in the months that she’s known their truth. They feel real, hopeless. They echo around her bedroom as they register everywhere. They make Santana feel blind to everything for a moment until she sees again.

 

When she does, she’s not sure what to feel at what she finds.

 

The look on Brittany’s face is not what she expected, not what she wanted it to be. There’s no guilt, no shame, no discomfort. All she finds is hurt and shock and disappointment.

 

For a minute, Santana’s sure the tears that had stubbornly clung to their ducts until now are going to fall. Brittany’s mouth drops open, her face relaxes and the tension in her body disappears. She almost looks like a balloon deflating.

 

Santana waits for words, for upset, for a tirade of emotion but Brittany just shakes her head and walks out for the second time in less than an hour.

 

It shocks Santana as much as it confuses her. She feels a little lost for a second, pent up with anger and frustration with no one to aim it at. She wonders if she should follow Brittany because Brittany was the one that started this, she doesn’t get to be the mature one who walks away now. It almost feels unnatural to be this angry at her and Santana can’t do anything but wallow in the feeling, pacing her bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt, underwear and unruly bed hair.

 

She’s ready when Brittany storms in the next time. She spins around when she hears her coming and takes a step towards her, not ready for the look she sees in her eyes. There’s a large black book under her arm, thick with its contents. It looks uncomfortable to hold but Brittany doesn’t seem bothered by it. She tosses it onto Santana’s bed a second later but Santana ignores the action because it feels unimportant now that Brittany has returned.

 

Brittany stops in front of her and pushes messy blonde hair from her eyes. The upset in her expression is gone only to be shrouded with disappointment and returning controlled anger. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Her face switches and hardens a second later. Somehow her jaw looks sharper, her lips thinner. Her eyes are an icier blue.

 

“Why do you think I’m here?” she asks carefully.

 

Santana narrows her eyes at the question. She shrugs like a petulant teenager. “I don’t know. Because you’re pissed at me. What does it matter?”

 

A flash of anger sparks in Brittany’s eyes and a low groan rumbles in her throat, barely heard.

 

“No,” she says forcefully. “Why do you think I’m _here_ , Santana?” She gestures around them in a way that indicates she means more than Santana’s too-dark and sex-smelling bedroom and bigger than their over-priced, under-sized apartment in Williamsburg. Santana looks around herself nervously, trying to find something that Brittany could mean other than _here_ , with her, but finds nothing. She turns back to find blue eyes watching her intently.

 

The disappointment in them is darker and deeper than Santana’s ever seen and it scares her. She swallows uncomfortably.

 

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t over between me and Sam,” Brittany says and maybe her voice breaks, maybe it doesn’t. Santana doesn’t really notice because she’s too busy being bowled over by the rush of information that she’s taking in.

 

She takes in a deep, sharp breath. Her mouth opens to speak but no words come out because, at that moment, she realizes she doesn’t know anything anymore. She doesn’t know anything but what she’s just been told and she can barely process it because she’s sure she should have known it anyway.

 

Still, Brittany stands in front of her with a face she’s still not really used to. It makes her shrink back into herself all over again, no fight left in her body. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on anymore and Brittany just looks at her like she’s the worst person in the world. She feels hopelessly small.

 

When Brittany shakes her head in disappointment at her, Santana’s sure it would hurt less if she punched her.

 

“It’s great to know what you think of me, Santana,” Brittany says suddenly and Santana’s confused for a moment. Brittany shrugs. “I’m a cheat, huh?”

 

Santana’s stomach plummets at the words. She opens her mouth to speak but she can’t find the words again, not even when she knows what she wants to say. She knows how much Brittany hated cheating on Artie, how much she even hated that Santana was “cheating” on Sam back before they were together. She knows that it was always Brittany’s biggest regret about them being together, how much she thought it cheapened them. She always said that nobody knew how uncontrollable it was between them, that no one understood and she hated it. She said, that she would never do that again, that if she could go back she’d find a way to make them understand, and here Santana is accusing her of it.

 

Here Santana is saying that she actively enabled it.

 

“I know that I did some really shitty things,” Brittany goes on breathlessly. “I know that you and I did some really, really shitty things to people we were supposed to care about. I know that those things will follow me around forever but I thought that _you_ of all people would know me better than that.” Her last word wilts and she shakes her head quickly and looks away. “I would never cheat on Sam. I would have never cheated on you,” Brittany says and swallows deeply. “And I sure as hell would never, ever cheat _with_ you. Not you. Not now. Not after everything.”

 

Santana’s brow crinkles because she doesn’t understand. She’s not sure what’s going on, why Brittany’s so angry or why her words are so harsh and tense.

 

“I have had _all_ of you, Santana,” Brittany whispers harshly and Santana knows that, regardless of how angry she is, she’s seconds from crying. “and I’ve cheated on people with you, and I know how little of you I would get from you if I did that again.” She shakes her head. “So why would I do that? Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like? How could I ever accept a small tainted part of you when I could have all of you?” She chokes out a laugh that should be a sob. “I’m glad I now know how much you valued what happened between us.”

 

Santana looks at her dumbfounded and lost. She’s not entirely sure what she’s hearing, not understanding what she’s being told because the words she’s hearing mean more than she thought they would. In minutes, her whole world has changed and she still has nothing to say.

 

“Jesus, Santana…” Brittany laughs and shakes her head. Santana sees a tear roll down her cheek and her fingers twitch to wipe it away. It’s a reaction she’s sure she’ll never grow out of. It takes everything to stop herself. “You’re so fucking… clueless,” she chuckles and her expression is wild and frantic again. Santana isn’t sure if she looks more disappointed or angry. “How could you think I would cheat on Sam? How could you think we’re still _together_?!” She pulls back and breathes in deep. “Jesus Christ, why DO you think I’m here?”

 

She moves in closer and Santana’s eyes grow wide. Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish before she takes a nervous step back to clear her head. She thinks quick and fast and what she comes up with probably isn’t good enough but it’s the truth.

 

“You said you were moving here because you got into NYU,” Santana mutters. “You said that you needed someone to stay with.”

 

Brittany shakes her head at her and shrugs. “And when have I ever showed any interest in moving to New York until you did?” she says and Santana just stares again, shocked and overwhelmed as everything starts to fit into place. “Would it mean _anything_ to you if I said that the four colleges I applied to were NYU, Louisville, UCLA and OSU? Would you understand why?”

 

Santana doesn’t really listen; she’s too busy telling her brain and mouth to stop fighting and talk. It doesn’t work because seconds later Brittany curses under her breath and shakes her head. She points to the book on the bed and fixes Santana with a look.

 

“Look at it, and if you don’t understand why I’m here after that then I don’t know what else I’m supposed to fucking do…” The words leave Brittany around a disbelieving laugh and she cuts it off by wiping the tears from her cheeks.

 

Santana moves forward. “Britt…” she starts, hoping that she can just stop whatever comes next.

 

“No,” Brittany’s hand reaches out to halt her and Santana stops quickly. “Don’t you dare come near me right now, okay?” she says. “I’m so mad at you Santana that I don’t even want to be in the same room as you. I didn’t even think you could hurt me like this and that’s saying something because you broke up with me via a fucking Taylor Swift song. I thought you knew me better. I thought that you thought more of me. But, whatever…”

 

She turns to leave but Santana steps over to stop her. She calls her name again and Brittany spins around to look at her.

 

“You’re not getting it,” Brittany says and her voice _does_ break a little. “You’ve hurt me, Santana. You’ve treated me like I’m nothing, like I’m not worth anything. I don’t want to be near you so I’m walking away. _I_ can’t do this,” she says. “So just leave me alone.”

 

And as she walks away, Santana has no choice but to do as she says.

 

She regrets it fifteen minutes later when the front door slams closed.

 

//

 

As she sits, half-dressed on the edge of her bed, Santana doesn’t know what her brain is doing.

 

While one half of it asks her what the hell is going on, the other shouts instructions at her. It doesn’t help and she has to brace herself against the edge of her bedside table to calm herself. It occurs to her, maybe too late, that maybe she should have followed Brittany. But, then again, it occurs to her just as quickly mere seconds later, that she should do as Brittany asked and leave her alone.

 

It takes her a few more minutes and some deep, forced, steady breathing, but she rationalizes that giving Brittany space will probably be better for them than chasing after her and demanding answers.

 

Still, Santana would really like those answers.

 

The frantic, panicked and confused swirling of questions is making her feel dizzy and she doesn’t know what to do.

 

She can’t stop hearing Brittany’s voice repeating words she’d said over and over again in her head.

 

 _Why do you think I’m here?_ she hears asked over and over again. _Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like?_

The words make Santana feel like she’s slipping and falling, losing everything she thought she knew. If anything, she feels like she doesn’t know anything at all. Everything she did, every action she took, doesn’t make sense anymore. She was sure she was doing the right thing telling Brittany that they should forget about what happened. She was sure that she was being noble, that Brittany had a boyfriend and she was doing the right thing, being the mature and good person, but now… God, now she doesn’t even know what she’s doing

 

She doesn’t know what the right thing is anymore.

 

It’s hard to think about when all she can realize is that Brittany is single, that she’s been single all along, that she has nothing to be guilty about because she hasn’t done anything wrong. It hurts to think about how quick she was to cast off their night together.

 

(If she’d have known, they could have woke up together like they used to. She could have held her. She could have kissed Brittany good morning and pushed wayward blond hair from sleepy blue eyes…)

 

No.

 

She did the right thing.

 

Regardless of whether they’re both single or not, there’s still more at stake. There’s still obstacles to pull them apart if anything ever happened. They’re living together, for Christ’s sake. She can’t just forget all of the other things that can ruin them, just because there’s one less obstacle keeping them apart.

 

She did the _right_ thing. She’s sure of it.

 

It’s the only way she won’t lose her this time. It’s the only way that she won’t ruin them. It’s the only way she can make sure they don’t make old mistakes.

 

She did the right thing.

 

_Didn’t she?_

 

She stands up from her bed and moves out into the living room, regretting the action the minute she gets there.

 

There’s liquor bottles littered everywhere. Glasses dot every available surface. Couch cushions cover the floor and Santana steps around them as she gets to her iPod dock, turning it off to cut off the crackle of static that can still be heard. As she turns around, something crumples under her foot and she gasps when she sees one of the small slips of paper their dares were written on. It brings everything back to her and she glances up at the coffee table, still devoid of the magazines and remotes it usually lays home to.

 

She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget what happened there, that she’ll always remember what the cold wood felt like against her back, how her skin slipped against it the sweatier she got. She doesn’t think that she’ll ever be able to watch Brittany reach forward and lean on it to climb onto the floor without thinking about Brittany dropping to her knees before her.

She reaches down and starts picking up random items, stopping when she realizes that none of her clothes litter the room anymore. Her eyes narrow but she stops looking eventually, turning back to her room instead.

 

A sigh leaves her when she finds them on her armchair, folded tidily and carefully.

 

Her hip drops and she rests her head against the doorframe.

 

She doesn’t know anything anymore.

 

//

 

When she showers, it stings. 

 

It’s disappointing because she expects the warm water to soothe her stretched and aching muscles, but all it does is make her aware of the bruises and bite marks that cover her skin. She thinks she sees the remnants of dry blood being washed away but she closes her eyes when she notices it and just stands there under the running water, trying not to remember how it might have got there.

 

When she gets back to her bedroom, she drops the towel and stares at herself in the mirror.

 

Her neck and shoulders are the worse. There are a couple of bruises that look like the skin is so weak, and the blood in them so dark and thick, that they might break at any second. She runs her finger over the one on her shoulder and winces at the sting she feels. The bruises that cover her chest aren’t as bad, but they’re still dark and purple with yellow littering the edges.

 

She pulls fresh underwear up her legs before shrugging on a shirt that she doesn’t button up and heading for the kitchen. She takes some frozen peas from the freezer and wraps them in a towel, takes them back to her room before stripping off her shirt and pressing the peas to her neck. It feels good and she switches on her TV and relaxes back on her bed, regretting it the minute the smell of her sheets hit her nose.

 

It makes her feel dizzy for a moment and she can’t move because of the rush of scent memory that overcomes her. She rolls over and buries her face in the smell of shampoo that isn’t hers. Her fist curls into the fabric beside her and it feels ridiculous that she missed the smell of something she couldn’t even remember until a few seconds ago. A thick lump forms in her throat and she rolls over onto her front, discarding the towel-clad peas in favor of gathering up fabric beneath her and smothering her face in it.

 

It smells of a million different things, from Brittany’s shampoo to her sweat to that scent that is beyond everything else and just pure essence. It makes her miss more than she thought she could and she hates it because she doesn’t want to miss things. Missing things means that she has to remember that she had them in the first place.

 

There are so many things that Santana misses already without remembering any more.

 

An unsteady breath leaves her at the realization and she pushes herself up until she’s sat on her knees in the middle of her bed. She clutches the pillow to her stomach for a moment until she catches another waft of the smell of it and frantically removes the linen case. She discards it before reaching for the rest of her pillows. Their pillowcases are removed just as quickly before she jumps up and sets about removing the rest of the linen.

 

It only takes her a few minutes to have a pile of dirty linen on her floor. She gathers it into her arms before grabbing the pile of clothes on her armchair and shoving it all into her laundry basket. It’s already full and she shoves at it frantically to push everything down so that she can close the top.

 

As soon as she does, she feels ridiculous. She buries her face into her hands and takes deep steadying breaths as she leans against her bedroom wall. She tells herself that they’re just bed sheets, that it’s just a smell, that they don’t mean anything. It doesn’t help that there’s a stubborn terrified part of her that won’t shut up reminding her that there are still things she needs to talk about and that everything could still go wrong.

 

 _Not if you keep it together_ , another voice tells her and she hears that because it doesn’t sound like her own voice. She pulls her hands from her face and takes one last steady breath so that her body can calm as much as it can. She stands up and walks over to her wardrobe, hands searching inside it for more bedding that she doesn’t find.

 

She settles for clothes instead and tugs stiff, clean jeans up her legs before searching for an undershirt and replacing her button-up with it. She finds a blouse and a sweater, glancing out at the alley to see the snow that still covers the fire escape as she pulls them on.

 

There’s no more snow and it feels colder. Santana switches on the small TV in her room as she dries her hair and fixes it into thick, dark waves that she instantly hides under a wool hat. The weatherman tells her that the snow is mostly over for now, but it’s colder and everything will soon turn to ice.

 

That doesn’t deter her.

 

She fixes herself with some make-up, struggling to put on mascara behind her glasses, and reaches for her boots.

 

//

 

When she glances at herself in the mirror in the hall as she’s pulling on her coat, she feels better purely because she looks put together. Her eyes look a little brighter and she can no longer see the bruises that remind her of what happened.

 

Still, she grabs her purse and glances at the clock.

 

She can’t help but notice that it’s been two hours since Brittany left, that it’s been two hours since she hasn’t come back.

 

She quickly wonders how much time she should give Brittany before she does something. What if Brittany’s waiting for her to do something?

 

She shakes her head and grabs for one of their reusable grocery bags that hang next to their coats.

 

She’ll go out and Brittany will be back by the time she comes home, she reasons as she heads out of the door. She’ll go and get everything she needs and Brittany will come back and she’ll settle down and they’ll talk when Santana returns.

 

It’ll be okay.

 

Everything will be okay, she reminds herself, ignoring the voice that asks _but what if it’s not?_

 

//

 

The streets are busier than they have been the whole week.

 

The grocery store on the corner is packed with people wanting to get all the things they need. Cars pack the street and the old guy who’s usually behind the counter is standing outside with a shovel, clearing the paths for people to get in. Santana waves at him as she walks past and he gives her a struggled smile that’s almost thankful that she isn’t going in.

 

For the first time in days, the smells of the food from the deli down the street fill her nose as she heads towards the subway. It’s open and that fills her with a strange sense of dread that she ignores as she wanders down the steps to catch the train.

 

Everything around her seems to be back to normal and Santana breathes easier because of it. She feels weirdly free and being outside of the apartment allows her to think a little easier, to forget the chaos she feels within the apartment, even though everything is still so confusing.

 

She has no idea why she’s in Target of all places. She thinks that maybe she needs the organized chaos of it. She walks around and picks up random things that she doesn’t even need, putting them into her shopping cart even though she can’t really afford them. Her feet take her towards the bed linen section and she spends way too long looking at everything before she puts more sheets than she needs into her cart.

 

She must look a little weird when she goes to the cashier but she doesn’t care. The thought of having crisp clean sheets on her bed makes her feel better. She’s glad that she picked lighter colors. She thinks that might make her feel better too, like her bed will look like it’s not her bed. Maybe she’ll be able to sleep in it without thinking of Brittany.

 

Brittany.

 

The cashier puts all of her things into bags as she stares into the distance. Her hand subconsciously reaches inside of her purse to search for her phone but she’s disappointed when she looks at it and there’s nothing there but a text from her mom. It’s kind of a surprise too because the cell reception has been really bad. Regardless, she doesn’t answer it and slips it back into her bag as cashier rings up her total.

 

It’s more than she wanted to spend but weirdly it feels right in a wrong kind of way. She hands over the cash and smiles thinly at the peppy girl who takes it from her. Something feels weird in her stomach and she realizes quickly that she shouldn’t be here, that she needs to be somewhere else.

 

She walks back to the subway and rides the train in uncomfortable silence while the voices inside of her head scream at her.

 

She tells herself again that Brittany will be back when she gets home and that everything will be okay but she’s not sure if she believes it. She knows that there needs to be more and she walks back to apartment quickly, desperate to do something, to find answers.

 

“Britt?” she says when she gets inside. She drops her bags at the door and wanders inside.

 

Her face falls when all she hears is silence. Her body sags when she finds the apartment looking exactly as she left it. She searches in every single room before stepping into the doorway of Brittany’s.

 

It’s empty, clothes littering the room in evidence of her too-abrupt exit. Santana looks around it, desperate for signs of her return but there’s nothing there.

 

A meow sounds from somewhere within and Santana sighs, kneeling to the floor as the familiar shape of Tubbs appears from underneath Brittany’s bed. She pulls him into her arms and strokes her hand along his back to soothe him. She can tell that he’s on-edge, purely because he makes no fuss about letting her.

 

He meows at her instead and she shrugs as she leans back against the living room wall.

 

“I don’t know,” she tells him and just looks at her softly. She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

 

//

 

She sits there with Tubbs in her lap for as long as she can. He’s warm and heavy and it makes her feel less lost and alone. Her hand strokes steadily over his back until she’s sure that he’s asleep and then picks him up carefully, cuddling him to her as she carries him over to his bed underneath the window.

 

She lowers him onto it and then covers him in a blanket to shield him from the draft that sometimes comes through the window. She turns on the TV, sighing when she finds the menu of Brittany’s copy of _Mary Poppins_ playing on repeat. Tubbs grumbles in his sleep and Santana runs her hand over his head and down his back as he drools onto his paw.

 

She tidies the living room as the film plays in the background and she knows that she’s trying to preoccupy herself but it doesn’t matter. She knows that she wouldn’t be able to do anything else anyway. She needs to talk to Brittany first. She needs to apologize and to talk and for Brittany to explain what she means.

 

She knows that she can’t figure out what she’s supposed to do until she has.

 

She wanders into the kitchen and searches through the cupboards. It’s almost time for dinner and she’s guessing that Brittany will be back soon. She clicks her tongue when she finds nothing and goes to find her coat and shoes. Maybe she can make dinner as an apology and then Brittany will be forced to sit down and talk to her.

 

The air is icy when she gets outside and it stings her face as she walks towards the store. The young guy who stacks the shelves is outside sprinkling salt onto the ground. Santana is glad that he’s there when she puts her foot onto the curb and finds ice. He jumps quickly to catch her as she slips and steadies her onto her feet. She thanks him around a laugh and he moves to sprinkle the spot with salt as she enters the store.

 

She buys the ingredients to make the same version of mac and cheese she’s been making Brittany since they were thirteen and allowed to use her parents kitchen on their own. She grabs the bacon to put inside, the fresh bread that she knows Brittany will want to try and make grilled mac and cheese with. She grabs a bag of frozen chicken nuggets in case she hasn’t eaten lunch and then goes back to get all the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

 

As she grabs for a bottle of wine, she kind of wants to laugh at how much everything has changed. They used to eat this dinner with root beer on Friday nights when Santana’s parents weren’t home. Now Santana’s grabbing a bottle of wine and a salad to go with it.

 

It feels weirdly grown up.

 

“Special occasion?” the owner asks her with a coy smile when she gets to the counter.

 

Santana looks at the huge amount of food she’s bought and shrugs.

 

She hopes so.

 

//

 

Brittany’s still not there when she gets back but Tubbs is still asleep. Mary Poppins is almost over and she switches it out for Toy Story, thinking that maybe she and Brittany can sit through the trilogy together.

 

She hums the words to _You Got a Friend in Me_ as she starts prepping the dinner and Buzz and Woody are at Pizza Planet by the time that she’s done.

 

The movie is almost over when she puts her cookies in the oven and she doesn’t even want to look at the clock as she sets places at their kitchen table, using a table cloth and everything.

 

Except there’s nothing left to do after that but wait and she glances at the clock because the curiosity is too much. Panic and worry wells inside of her when she discovers that it’s just passed nine o’clock. Her eyes nervously flick over to the window and she can’t help but think about how it’s getting colder and how New York will be a sea of ice soon and there will be no one to spread the salt.

 

She heads for her cellphone without another thought, scrolling through to Brittany’s name before stopping and putting the phone down.

 

She wanted to give her space.

 

Except now that space is dangerous. She needs to know that Brittany’s safe and then she’ll leave her alone.

 

She picks up her phone and dials Brittany’s number before she can stop herself. She sits at their kitchen table, staring at the unlit candle in the middle, and listens to it ringing and ringing until it clicks through to Brittany’s voicemail.

 

She cuts off the call and breathes out uneasily only to dial Brittany’s number again a second later.

 

She lets it ring through and then swallows nervously as she waits for the tone.

 

“Hey, it’s me,” she says nervously. “Give me a call when you get this… if you want.”

 

She hangs up and holds her head in her hands. The urge to cry is overwhelming and she knocks the candle from the table hoping that might make it feel better.

 

It just makes her feel worse.

 

//

 

She waits thirty minutes before calling through again.

 

 

It feels like the gap between each ring is getting longer, drawing out the panic in her body until it finally clicks through to Brittany’s voicemail. Santana’s stomach plummets again and she swallows dryly before scrolling through her contacts, trying to figure out what she wants to do next.

 

With each name that she sees, a heaviness settles over her making her more aware of how much of a screw-up she is. Each name she sees is another name that probably knew something like this was going to happen, that looked at her with trepidation when she told them she and Brittany were moving in together.

 

She dials the number of the only people who thought this was a good idea and the only people she knows won’t judge.

 

“Coyote Ugly. Stacey speaking?”

 

“Stacey, it’s Santana, is Britt there?”

 

Santana listens for a moment and notices that the line isn’t as loud as it usually is. She can hear no backing-track of music or horny guys shouting for the girls. It sounds quite tame, even for ten-thirty at night, and she gulps because it weirdly makes her nervous.

 

“Santana? What do you mean? Is she working?” The phone crackles and Santana sighs because Stacey is not the best person to answer her questions. “I thought you were in Ohio.”

 

Santana feels irritation rise up her throat but she swallows it down before she can find the rage place. “Is Lil there?” she asks carefully, shifting uncomfortably on her seat. “I need to speak to her.”

 

“Sure,” Stacey says and the line goes quiet for too long. Santana’s got her face buried in her hands when it clicks and a gruff “Hello?” sounds through the receiver.

 

“Lil? Is Britt there?”

 

A tense moment of quiet takes over the line. “What are you asking me for? She’s your friend or whatever?”

 

“Lil,” Santana says sharply. “She’s been gone since noon and it’s dark. She hasn’t come home yet and she’s not picking up her phone. Is she there?”

 

Santana hears the woman breathe out before she hears her moving around. Santana holds the phone to her ear and waits impatiently for her to speak. Her entire body feels strange and different. She’s never experienced it before and it makes her feel weak at the same time that she feels more buzzed and on edge than she’s ever been. She nervously buries her face in her spare hand and can’t seem to clean the dryness in her throat as she swallows and swallows.

 

“Lopez?”

 

She sits bolt upright at the sound of her name and doesn’t say anything. She’s sure that the woman can probably hear the sound of her heart through the phone, that her breathing is enough of an answer.

 

“Lopez, I’ve asked all the girls and none of them have seen or heard from her,” Lil says carefully. “Tommy, too. No one’s seen her since before Christmas…”

 

Santana doesn’t say anything but her head reburies itself in her hand and her heart feels like it might stop.

 

“Are you in Ohio?” Lil asks and Santana shakes her head before realizing that Lil can’t see.

 

“No, no…” she says. “I’m in Brooklyn. We got caught in the snow and we…” She trails off, not sure if she wants to say anything. She carries on purely because she thinks she needs Lil’s brash advice. “We had a fight and I upset her and she—she walked out.”

 

She’s sorely disappointed when all she hears is another sigh. “That sucks, kid,” Lil says and Santana finds herself missing the snark. “She’ll be okay, though. She’s tough. Tougher than most.”

 

Santana nods because she knows it’s true. She’s not sure if she’s more scared about Brittany’s safety or the fact that she might just not want to come back, that they’ll never get to talk about this and she’ll be waiting too long to find out what Brittany meant or what she wants.

 

“You’ll be okay?” Lil says. Santana hums out a half-assed noise of affirmation. “I’ll call you if she comes in or calls, okay?”

 

Santana nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. “Thanks, Lil.”

 

There’s a pause on the line for a minute but then it clicks so quietly it almost hurts. Santana stares down at the phone and finds no text messages, no calls, no emails or anything.  Her hands find her face and she rocks backwards and forwards as she tries not to let herself cry. It almost works and one sole pathetic tear rolls down her cheek before she reaches for her phone and finds the next number.

 

//

 

It clicks through quickly.

 

“I’ve been trying to call you all week!” is the first thing she hears and she winces as she clears her throat and tries to make herself sound normal.

 

She lets out a laugh and clears her throat. “Hey,” she says. “We only just got our cell reception back. It’s still a little patchy.”

 

“Has it been that bad?” Kurt asks and Santana pauses to think.

 

Bad, no. It hasn’t been bad. Difficult. Difficult would probably be a better word.

 

“It’s been okay,” she tells him carefully. “I mean, we’ve had no TV since before Christmas and the subway and all the bridges and tunnels have been closed since like… the 23rd. They just opened them up this morning, I think…”

 

She stops before she can say anything else and clears her throat. She listens to the sounds in the background, wondering where Kurt is. For a moment, she wonders where she would be right now if the snow had never come down and she’d made it to Ohio. Probably at home while her parents visit the rest of her family at her grandmother’s, she guesses. It’s not like anything has changed.

 

Still, she wonders what would have been worse, visiting home when her family still pretends like she doesn’t exist anymore or here, in New York, going through this.

 

“And?” Kurt prompts, his voice low like she should be saying something obvious. “How’s it been with Britt?”

 

The question blindsides her a little. She turns her face away from the phone as an unsteady breath leaves her before swallowing thickly and closing her eyes.

 

“It’s been fine,” she lies, except it’s not really a lie. Everything was kind of fine until yesterday when everything was suddenly fucked up and messy. “It’s been fine,” she repeats and she sees a window. “She’s not here right now, though. She went out earlier to do something. I’m not sure what because I was asleep but, yeah…” She levels her voice and speaks carefully. “Have you not heard from her? Or Blaine?”

 

“No,” Kurt says after a weird pause. Santana feels another blow and doesn’t know how many more she can take. “I haven’t and Blaine never mentioned it when I talked to him this morning.”

 

“Oh,” Santana says as normally as she can. “Weird. I thought I heard her say she needed to call you guys for something.”

 

There’s another awkward pause and Santana tries to keep her breathing even.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“Santana, are you okay?” Kurt asks and Santana doesn’t know what she’s doing. She nods and clears her throat.

 

“I’m fine,” she says. “But listen, I gotta go. I think the line is about to cut out.”

 

“Okay,” Kurt says and Santana can hear the confusion and concern in his voice regardless. “Call me, okay?”

 

Santana nods and stands up, pacing around the kitchen as she tries to keep calm. “I will,” she mutters. “Bye, Kurt.”

 

She ends the call before he can answer and isn’t shocked when deep, heaving breaths leave her. She bends over to grip at her knees and gasps against the tightness in her chest. Her body feels frantic, running on adrenaline, and she paces throughout the house until she’s calm.

 

She grabs the apartment phone from the wall in the kitchen and doesn’t think before she presses the speed dial number she wants.

 

//

 

It’s not until it’s too late to hang up that she begins to panic and stares down at the phone in her hand. The sound of the phone dialing is loud and she almost drops it when the line clicks through.

 

“Hello?” she hears and Santana mouths out a soundless “fuck” before she puts the phone to her ear.

 

“Mrs. Pierce?” she says uncertainly.

 

“Santana?” the woman says and Santana lets her mind run for a second before it clicks.

 

“Oh, wow,” she says. “Sorry, Mrs. Pierce, I pressed the wrong number on the speed dial. I was uh—I was trying to call home.”

 

A laugh flutters into her ear and Santana has to close her eyes at how weirdly similar to Brittany’s it is. She swallows awkwardly and, as much as she wants to know if Mrs. Pierce has heard from her daughter, she really needs to hang up.

 

“Rushing were we?” Mrs. Pierce says and Santana laughs along with her.

 

“I promised my mom I’d call her once everything was working again,” Santana says and it’s not a lie. She had promised her mom that. She’s suddenly glad she did. “I completely forgot and wanted to catch her before she went to bed.”

 

Another laugh sounds through the line, except it’s softer this time, fond almost. “That’s fine, Sweetheart,” Mrs. Pierce says softly. “I made Brittany do the same thing.”

 

Santana listens to her and, as she speaks, she hears how something in her voice suddenly changes. She worries her lip between her teeth and narrows her eyes, waiting for the woman to continue.

 

“Speaking of,” Mrs. Pierce finally goes on. “I spoke to her earlier and she sounded a little strange. Is she okay?”

 

 _I don’t know_ , Santana wants to say but she knows she can’t. The relief that someone else has actually spoken to Brittany makes her feel better and she feels a little dizzy as her body begins to calm.

 

“When was that?” Santana asks as she pulls a chair towards her and sits down on it.

 

“Around five, I guess,” she tells her. “It was loud where she was and she didn’t stay on the phone long. She sounded upset and wouldn’t tell me where she was.”

 

Santana probably takes too long to answer because a soft “Santana?” whispers into her ear. She swallows and scratches nervously at her wrist.

 

“I wouldn’t really know, Mrs. Pierce,” she says honestly. “She went out and she’s not back yet… I could talk to her when she gets back if you want?”

 

“You mean you’re not with her?”

 

The question catches her off-guard. “Sorry?”

 

Mrs. Pierce is quick in repeating the question. “You’re not with her? When I spoke to her I thought she said that you were with her.”

 

Santana’s mouth opens and closes, searching for the answer. “I was supposed to be but I—I had to call my boss.”

 

The woman pauses then, probably longer than Santana did. Something shifts. Santana’s sure that she’s been caught, found out, and she waits patiently, telling herself not to hang up as much as she desperately wants to.

 

“Just get her to call me when she has a chance,” Mrs. Pierce says and she doesn’t sound angry or pissed. She just sounds intrigued almost, concerned.

 

“Sure, Mrs. P,” Santana says, feeling guiltier than she was a second ago. “It was good talking to you.”

 

“You, too, Santana,” she says softly. “You, too.”

 

//

 

Brittany’s still not home by midnight.

 

Santana lies on the couch in front of the TV and pretends that she’s watching it when all she’s doing is thinking about Brittany.

 

The panic she felt earlier is still there but it’s been overcome with a fear that settles deeper into her bones and terrifies her. All she can keep thinking about is what if Brittany doesn’t come back? What if something has happened to her? What if she’s still waiting for Santana to do something? What if she was supposed to go find her?

 

Not knowing the right thing to do makes everything in her ache and Santana curls into the blanket Brittany gave her because it’s the only thing that makes her feel safe.

 

//

 

She goes to bed but she doesn’t sleep.

 

She can hear the draft through the window in the living room and she’s so used to falling asleep to the sounds of Brittany tossing and turning, to her sleepy breathy sighs, that it feels like she’s not even in her own bed.

 

Not even Tubbs sleeping on her feet can make the discomfort go away and barely an hour after she gets into bed, she gets back up again.

 

She tries to fall asleep on the couch but, after twenty minutes, she gives up. She wraps the blanket around her and steps over to the window, pushing at it in hopes that she might be able to stop the draft. It’s pointless; the wind still whistles through it and Santana pulls the drapes open to look out onto the street.

 

There are still people wandering around. The grocery store on the corner is getting a delivery that Santana can’t is late or early. The pizza delivery boys are still whizzing off around the neighborhood on their Vespas. There’s a bar just up the street and the sound of drunken idiots and car alarms tells her that people are still in the holiday spirit. The subway can still be heard vibrating the entire neighborhood and Santana is too tired to care as she steps into her room and slowly drags out her armchair.

 

She sets it up by the window and deliberately faces it so that she can see anyone who approaches from all directions. She places her body toward the subway and covers herself in her duvet to keep warm.

 

Her eyes blink slowly behind her glasses and, as her mind slowly begins to settle, all she can think about is Brittany’s words and all the things she insinuated but never said.

 

_Why would I move all the way to New York to have a second-rate version of you when I know what the full version is like?_

The words repeat themselves in Santana’s head over and over again and she clings to them, trying to work them out. What did Brittany mean? Did she move here for her? It seems like such a ridiculous thought now when it felt so real two years ago.

 

Santana’s hand instinctively reaches up to her neck to search for something that isn’t there. It hasn’t been there in a while… not since she couldn’t sleep for gripping it and remembering what was inside.

 

Disappointment levels in her chest and her hand presses to where her heart still beats unsteadily within her rib cage.

 

 _What if she moved here for me_? she wonders in a way that she would never let herself if she wasn’t this tired. _What does it mean? What does she want?_

She glances at the clock and sees that it’s almost 3am. Her eyes flutter and Santana feels the war inside of her begin, her body not sure if it wants to be asleep or awake.

 

She feels something heavy settle in her lap and burrow into her as she tries to think of ways to get Brittany to talk to her. Tubbs meows and she lifts her hand without thinking, petting him gently as she tries not to think about all the answers she might not get.

 

Instead, she thinks about all the questions she hopes to ask.

 

//

 

When she wakes up, all she can realize is that she actually fell asleep.

 

She can’t think about why or how, or why she’s even awake, because all she can think about is the fact that she slept in the first place when she was so sure that she wasn’t going to.

 

Her eyes blink heavily behind her glasses and the ache in them makes her realize that she hasn’t been asleep for very long. There’s still a heavy weight in her lap and she subconsciously rubs the top of Tubbs’ head to keep him asleep. He groans and Santana keeps blinking, eyes opening quickly when she realizes that it’s still dark outside.

 

When she checks her watch, she discovers that it’s only just 5am. The mere thought of being up this early makes her groan and she looks around her to try and discover what managed to wake her this early.

 

She gets her answer a few seconds later when she hears the sound of her phone vibrating. It makes her jolt and she narrows her eyes wondering who could be calling or texting her this early.

 

She doesn’t even think before lifting Tubbs from her lap and depositing him back on her chair. She almost trips on the blanket as she stumbles back into her room. Her legs get tangled in it and her feet hit the ground hard as she manages to steady herself out of it. She practically vaults over the couch to get to her phone and grunts as she grabs for it, falling to the cushions.

 

When she looks, there’s a missed call and a text message, both from her boss. Her heart sinks slightly but she opens them anyway. She has a missed call from an hour and a half ago and a text seems to have been vibrating to get her attention since then. She opens it quickly and breathes out in relief at what it says.

 

_Britt turned up at the bar around 1am and stuck around until closing. She was totally wasted so I put her on my couch. Tried talking to her but she wouldn’t budge. I asked her if she wanted me to call you but she made me promise not to tell you she was here. She’s asleep now but you better get here before she wakes up._

She shoots out a response without thinking and wanders into her bedroom to get dressed. She pulls on the same clothes she was wearing yesterday, purely because they’re still covering her bedroom floor. Her hair doesn’t look too bad and she dials Lil’s number as she brushes her teeth.

 

She doesn’t answer and it goes through to voicemail.

 

Santana doesn’t care because she knows that Lil still lives above the bar and doesn’t go to bed until 10am. She finds her purse and pulls out her metrocard and enough cash to hail cabs for the next week. She stuffs it into the pocket of her jeans and puts her phone in the other, grabbing her keys as she leaves.

 

Her feet move fast and she only searches the streets for a cab for a few seconds before she starts heading for the subway. She walks as carefully as she can. The temperature has dropped again and turned the sidewalks into an ice rink. Santana pulls her coat tighter around her as she deliberately walks on the hard, crunchy snow and down the steps to the subway.

 

//

 

The subway is mostly empty apart from a few of the normal crazies and some overeager workaholics. It’s colder now and she spends most of the journey with her feet on the seat beside her as she tucks her legs up into herself.

 

The wind whips in her face when she gets out at the other side. Manhattan looks alive again, bustling and loud, as she fights against the wind to get to the bar as quick as she can. She negotiates her footsteps to walk in the crunchy piles of snow that line the curbs and buildings as ice shines on the pavements. Her feet are already soaking wet and freezing cold but she doesn’t notice as she walks quickly.

 

All she thinks about is Brittany. A few hours ago she was scared for more than one reason and now one of those reasons is gone. Brittany’s safe and that’s all Santana can think about as she almost runs up the street. All her other fears seem a million miles away.

 

The lights outside the bar are off when she arrives. The pavement is free from the icy shine that covers the rest of the street and Santana breathes out a sigh of relief when she gets to the side door.

 

She doesn’t bang on it like she’s desperate to. She stops and looks around herself before shooting off a text to Lil so that she can open the door for her. She doesn’t want to spook Brittany, even if she might be drunk. She doesn’t want to wake Brittany up and for her to be tired and hungover. That’ll just make her madder and it’s the last thing Santana wants.

 

She impatiently checks her phone to see how long it’s taking but sighs when it’s only been a minute or so. She bounces on the spot uncontrollably until Lil opens the door a few seconds later. She’s in a thick sweatshirt and some jeans and it throws Santana to see her dressed so casually that she just stares and misses the disappointment in Lil’s eyes.

 

“You’re too late,” she says and that finally catches Santana’s attention.

 

Her brow furrows and she tries to look behind Lil to see if she’s kidding. Maybe Brittany explained stuff to her and now Lil can see how much of an asshole she is too. Santana swallows uncomfortably and searches her face instead.

 

“What?” she asks nervously.

 

Lil stares back at her, resting her shoulder against the doorjamb. Santana’s hands worry uncomfortably around her phone and she moistens her lips against the chill of the cold. She hopes that Lil makes this quick. Santana might think she’s a badass but Lil’s been beating up drunk assholes bigger than her for twenty years.

 

She’s so busy thinking about how fast she’d have to run to the nearest subway that she misses the moment when the woman actually speaks to her.

 

“She’s gone,” Lil says and she sounds like she’s speaking carefully, like she’s perfectly aware that Santana’s completely losing it and could fly off the handle at any second. “She’d got up for some water when you text me. I was doing some work at my counter and she passed the phone to me, saw your text and…” A laugh erupts from her softly. “She’s feistier than she looks, huh?”

 

Santana can’t really respond to that. She’s too busy letting the panic seep into her body. It’s like all the recently departed panic that had been filling her body suddenly comes back. She staggers back and her breathing becomes heavier. Her hand presses to her chest and her vision goes hazy. She’s not aware of what she’s doing until she feels herself being forced into one of the chairs in the bar, Lil’s familiar strong hands pushing her down into it.

 

“Cool your jets, Lopez,” she says and Santana just stares into space until a glass of something is forced into her hands. It’s dark amber and the smell permeates her senses immediately. It’s forced into her hands and Santana just holds it until a voice instructs her to drink and a hand puppeteers the glass to her lips. The shock of the burn is enough to bring her back to herself. She finds kind eyes looking up at her from where Lil kneels in front of her and they make her feel better.

 

“You girls really need to figure your shit out,” Lil says but her smile and the squeeze to Santana’s knee gives away that she’s worried. “I don’t think you’re gonna find many people who can deal with your bullshit, Lopez… and, well, I’m not sure that there are many people who would be able to understand what the hell Brittany is talking about half the time, so…”

 

When Santana still doesn’t react in anyway other than to stare at her, Lil’s hand squeezes her knee just a little tighter and her smile falls.

 

“What do you need?” she asks instead.

 

Santana stares but then she swallows and speaks. “When did she leave?” she asks.

 

Lil glances down at her watch. “Probably forty five minutes ago. She yelled at me for a spell so I’m not sure.”

 

Santana nods. “Which way did she go?”

 

Lil just shakes her head and Santana feels her hope slipping away as her fear rises.

 

“She was still pretty drunk from what I can tell,” Lil says and Santana closes her eyes. A million things rush to her mind and she shakes her head in refusal of them. Lil carries on. “I don’t think she’ll have gone far. She was looking for her metro card as she left. I think she must have been heading home. There’s nowhere else she could go, right?”

 

Santana could think of a million places.

 

“Here… she left her phone here,” Lil says and she reaches around into her back pocket to pull it out. “I’m sure she’ll be back to get it. Why don’t I get you another drink while you wait?”

 

Santana just nods because she can’t think of anything better to do.

 

//

 

She’s slightly buzzed when she walks out of the subway station in Williamsburg over an hour later. Brittany’s phone is clutched in one hand, her own in the other, and she fights the urge to cry as she heads back to their apartment, hoping and praying that’s where Brittany is. The sun is starting to peek through the buildings and Santana’s sure she should be feeling hope at the idea of a brand new day but she doesn’t.

 

It’s New Years Eve and her life is a mess. She doesn’t know anything and she feels like she’s losing everyone. She’s not even sure she knows what hope is anymore.

 

She tosses hers and Brittany’s phones on the coffee table and throws herself down on the couch. Her legs stretch out and her hands press over her face as she feels the sure and warm lump of Lord Tubbington land in her lap. Her claws at her stomach and she breathes out unsteadily in the hopes it might force him off. Instead he meows lowly in warning and Santana shakes her head as the threat of tears stings at her eyes.

 

“She wasn’t there,” she tells him, her voice raised and breathless. “She doesn’t want to be near me, Tubbs, okay? She’ll come back when she’s fucking ready.”

 

Her hand falls to cover her eyes and she takes deep, unsteady breaths because she’s too tired to cry. She feels Tubbs start to walk up her body and isn’t really ready for it when he begins to nose at her hands and paw at her.

 

It makes it harder not to cry and she doesn’t think before she lifts a hand to stroke him down the back of his head before she can scratch behind his ears. He carries on nosing into her and Santana chokes out one lonely sob before the ringing of their phone reverberates around the apartment.

 

Tubbs jumps off of her quickly and heads for the kitchen, standing in the spot below where the phone hangs and waiting for her.

 

Santana sniffs and picks it up quickly. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and tries to steady her breathing.

 

“Hello?” she says, expecting her mom or maybe Britt’s parents, or Kurt. What she doesn’t expect it the crackle of background noise on the line and an unfamiliar voice clearing their throat.

 

“Good morning, this is New York Downtown Hospital, I’m looking for Santana Lopez,” a forced but peppy voice says over the line. The words, no matter how kind and appealing, make Santana stop.

 

“This is she,” she says softly.

 

“Is your roommate…” There’s a pause where it’s obvious she’s searching for a piece of paper. It’s a moment that Santana doesn’t need because the panic rises and her hand presses to the wall to steady her as her heart beats faster and faster. “…Brittany Susan Pierce?”

 

//

 

Santana panics the whole way to the hospital, replaying the conversation with the nurse over and over again. Brittany’s duffel sits beside her and she taps her phone against her leg as the cab stops yet again at another set of lights.

 

_“Miss Pierce has been admitted to us this morning—”_

 

  _“Is she okay?”_

She still feels the panic in her throat, the lack of information making her head ache with desperation. The nurse’s voice was so kind and she didn’t sound panicked one bit. It didn’t calm Santana down at all.

 

 _“She’s fine. Our doctors are with her now. It’s nothing to worry about. She’s been involved in a minor accident and she’s sustained a few injuries._ ”

 

Santana had wanted to yell at her that it doesn’t matter how minor the accident is if Brittany’s hurt. She still has to worry. Brittany could be in pain. She could be hurting. If she was okay then she wouldn’t need treatment. Santana wouldn’t be sitting in a cab on her way to the hospital to make sure she gets home okay if there wasn’t something wrong with her.

 

She wouldn’t be clutching Brittany’s insurance details or a duffel of clean clothes if Brittany was fine. You only need clean clothes if your old ones are soiled or wet or ripped. None of those options sound like something that a person who was fine would have.

 

“Can we get there any faster?” she leans forward to ask the cabby. He just turns his head to her slightly, shakes his head, and stares back at the road.

 

//

 

It’s almost nine am by the time she arrives at the hospital. It’s not as busy as she expects it to be but she briefly thinks that, come this time tomorrow, this place will be full of idiots who had too good a time. Still, the hospital has more life than the streets and, as she heads for the sign that says emergency department, she feels thankful for that.

 

“I’m looking for Brittany Pierce,” she says to the first person in scrubs she can find. She looks approachable, her scrubs are blue and there’s a badge on the cardigan she wears over them that says her name is Edie. She’s also the only person sitting still.

 

The woman looks up at her, searching her quickly before smiling at her kindly.

 

“You must be Santana,” she says softly and her voice sounds more nice than it did on the phone. She sounds softer. “I’m Edie. I’m one of the nurses here. Take a seat.”

 

Usually, Santana would be yelling at this point. If this was any other nurse she would be yelling to see Brittany right away but, looking at this nurse, she knows that it would be better to sit her ass down and shut up. She’s been around enough nurses throughout her childhood to know that there’s some you can toy with and some that will kick your ass. This woman is one of the latter, regardless of how she speaks.

 

“Did you bring her insurance details?” Edie asks as she looks through some paperwork. Santana hands it over quickly. “Thank you.” She takes the card and tucks it in the file in front of her. “Now, I feel like I should tell you what’s going on here because, your friend?” The woman’s face screws up as one eye closes in thought and her mouth turns up too. “She’s not in the best of moods.”

 

Santana nods. “Okay,” she says softly, not knowing whether to mention that that’s her fault.

 

“It was clear to the EMTs that picked her up that she’d been drinking but she was more sober than drunk, if that makes any sense, when they picked her up…”

 

Santana opens her mouth to speak but the woman cuts her off quickly.

 

“She fell,” she says before Santana can ask. “She slipped on some ice a few blocks from here and she’s in a bit of a mess. Her wrist is broken and needs to be put back in place. She’s cut her elbow open. There appears to be a minor sprain to her right ankle but it’s nothing major. Apart from that, it’s all just a lot of bruising… a lot of ice will be needed, ironically, but apart from that she’s fine. We’ve put her on some fluids for the hangover and we’ve mostly left her alone.”

 

Santana nods, a little confused. “Okay.”

 

“She’s been here since about 6:30 but she didn’t want us to call anyone, even though she’s going to be very heavily medicated soon and will need help,” Edie nods to make sure that Santana understands so Santana copies her so that she continues. “At first she told us to call her parents and it wasn’t until we called them that we realized they were in Ohio. They told us to call you but Brittany said not to. Her parents said to call you or they would, so here you are. She does _not_ want to see you and she is going to be very mad at me.”

 

Santana laughs and shakes her head. “She’ll be more mad at me.”

 

Edie laughs. “Are you really that bad of a roommate?”

 

Santana laughs with her and shakes her head, soaking in the relief that Brittany isn’t dying or hasn’t lost a limb, that she’s not in pain and only pissed.

 

“I’m an awesome roommate,” Santana tells Edie carefully. “But I’m an awful ex.”

 

Edie’s face falls into understanding. She gathers her papers together.

 

“Ah,” she says. “That makes sense. Follow me.”

 

//

 

As they walk down a long line of closed cubicle curtains, Santana begins to wonder if Brittany’s even here. It’s weird how not-loud it is and Santana sticks to Edie’s heels as she takes her to the last cubicle on the left.

 

The curtain is open and Santana narrows her eyes in confusion as Edie leads her inside and forces her down into the chair beside the bed. She’s not sure what’s happening when Edie takes the duffel bag from her and hangs Brittany’s clean coat over the back of the chair.

 

“I don’t…” Santana starts but Edie cuts her off again.

 

“She’s in the bathroom,” she tells her. “She’ll be back in a sec but you should get comfy.”

 

Santana looks up at the woman and finds a smirk on her face.

 

“You’re in for a rough morning.”

 

//

 

When she hears wheels approaching, Santana prepares herself.

 

As the curtain pulls open, Santana holds her breath, preparing herself for what she’s going to see. She’s scared; she knows that. Brittany’s hurt and she hates it. She hates it almost as much as she hates Brittany being mad at her and knowing that she’s going to have to face those two things at once almost makes her want to run for the hills.

 

She’s kind of glad that Brittany isn’t paying attention when the grey-haired nurse wheels her in. She’s staring into her lap and Santana manages to get a good look at her before she notices.

 

She’s wearing one of those weird blue hospital gowns and there’s an IV in her arm that leads to a bag of clear fluid that hangs above her. There’s a pillow on her lap and her wrist rests on it, swollen and at an odd angle. There’s blood all down the other arm, all coming from beneath a bandage that’s wrapped around her elbow.

 

Weirdly, that’s what concerns Santana the most and she gasps, bringing attention to herself quicker than she wanted because less than a second later, blue eyes glance up at her and instantly form into a glare.

 

“I told you not to call her,” Brittany says sharply, turning to her nurse.

 

The woman narrows her eyes then peers over bright orange glasses at Santana sitting there in the corner.

 

“I didn’t call her,” she says in a thick Brooklyn accent as she puts the breaks on the wheelchair. “I’ve been with you. Now stop complaining and get back in bed.”

 

Brittany scoffs out a growl but lets the nurse help her get up and into the bed anyway. She puts the bars up on it and arranges the thick pillow so that Brittany can rest her arm on it again. She checks the IV in Brittany’s arm and covers her bare legs with a blanket, rolling her eyes when Brittany kicks it off.

 

“Fine, get cold,” the woman says, turning away from her. “You must be Santana. I’m Wanda. Did you speak to Edie?”

 

Instead of speaking, Santana nods, scared for what Brittany might do.

 

“Did you bring this little ray of sunshine some clothes?”

 

Santana nods again and reaches for the bag beside her.

 

“She doesn’t need it yet,” Wanda says moving closer to stop her. “I just wanted to make sure. Now, I’m going to go see where the doctor is… why don’t you keep Brittany here some company?”

 

Santana nods, even as Brittany ignores both of them, and turns her head away.

 

//

 

They manage to sit for twenty minutes in awkward silence before Santana can’t do it anymore.

 

“Britt…” she mutters but soon trails off when Brittany shushes her.

 

Part of Santana almost wants to smile; Brittany always was kind of a brat sometimes.

 

Instead, she sighs and ignores her. “Britt, I just want to know if you’re—”

 

“I didn’t want them to call you.”

 

Santana takes advantage of Brittany not looking at her to close her eyes and steel herself against the urge to cry. Her hands curl to clutch at the fabric of her jeans and she clears her throat.

 

“I know you didn’t, but there’s nobody else and you’re gonna need someone to look after you,” Santana tells her quickly.

 

“I can look after myself,” Brittany mumbles. “I don’t need you.”

 

Santana swallows and her eyes clench closed even tighter. Those words, for some reason, make her feel like she’s dying. “I know… I know you can but you shouldn’t have to.”

 

It confuses her when Brittany has nothing to say to that. They lapse into silence; Brittany lying against the bed while Santana leans forward in her chair, just in case. There’s an occasional beep from a machine, or a rush of people at the other side of the department. Neither of them speaks and Santana doesn’t want to make conversation because she knows she’ll just make Brittany more mad.

 

Every so often, one of the nurses—always Edie or Wanda—comes in to check on them but leaves shortly after. They tell Santana she looks exhausted and that there’s a coffee machine along the hall or a Starbucks just down the street. Santana gives in after the fifth time and asks Brittany if she wants anything but she doesn’t answer. Santana just takes a few dollar bills from her pocket and her cellphone and tells her she’ll back soon.

 

At first she plans to go to the coffee machine, but then she realizes that she needs some air. It only takes a few minutes to walk to the Starbucks but it’s enough for her to feel like she can get a hold on herself. She orders herself a coffee and gets Brittany a gingerbread latte, just because. She buys some sandwiches and cookies and packs them into her coat pockets before heading back to the hospital.

 

Brittany’s still in the same place she was before Santana left and she doesn’t move when Santana puts the coffee or the sandwich on the table at the end of her bed. There’s a familiar look in her face that Santana recognizes. She’s pale and her brow is furrowed. Santana’s first instinct is to jump into the bed and rub her stomach but it isn’t that. There are things making Brittany hurt that Santana can’t fix and realizing that is something that catches her off-guard for a second.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks even though she knows she shouldn’t. She waits for Brittany to bite her head off but instead she just shakes her head and turns into the pillow slightly. “Anything I can do?” she asks nervously.

 

Brittany shakes her head again. Santana’s not sure if she’s given in or if she’s just in too much pain to care. “The more sober I get the more it hurts,” she mutters.

 

Santana moves closer. “Can they not give you something?”

 

“They already did,” she says and Santana watches as her eyes flutter while her good hand reaches down to clutch the sheets.

 

“I got you a coffee and a sandwich,” Santana says, like that might take away the pain.

 

Brittany just shakes her head and turns onto her side, into her injuries and towards the wall away from Santana. “I’m not hungry,” she says quietly. “I feel kind of nauseous.”

 

“Maybe it’s because you need to eat something,” Santana says, picking up one of the sandwiches. “Here.”

 

She flinches her hand away when Santana makes to put it in her hand.

 

“I said I’m not hungry,” she repeats and her voice raises as she shakes her head in disappointment.

 

Santana swallows and puts the sandwich back down on the table. She moves back to her chair and stares at Brittany’s back, her bare skin poking through the gown.

 

“Sorry,” she whispers. Brittany doesn’t respond.

 

//

 

By the time that the doctor arrives, Brittany’s let herself lapse into some sort of trance as her body tries to deal with the pain. Her breathing is low and steady and she almost looks like she’s asleep. The blankets are pulled up snug around her and the lights are low. Seeing her like this would normally relax Santana but sometimes she still hears a hitch of breath at the pain or sees the stiffness of her body.

 

“Brittany,” Edie says when she walks in with a middle-aged, red-haired woman behind her. “Brittany, the doctor’s here.”

 

Edie’s warm hands sweep Brittany’s blond hair back from her face and Santana has to look away. Brittany stirs and Santana stares at the pattern of the closed curtain. It feels claustrophobic all of a sudden and, as Brittany turns to lie on her back, Santana feels the urge to flee.

 

She feels strangely out of control.

 

“Where’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?” Edie asks, still pushing Brittany’s hair from her face and tucking the blankets around her.

 

Brittany swallows thickly like she’s going to be sick. “I feel nauseous,” she mutters a second later.

 

Edie smiles comfortingly.

 

“We’ll get you some more morphine.”

 

//

 

It’s clear that the morphine isn’t working so well when Brittany throws up after the doctor tries to feel her wrist.

 

Santana doesn’t know what to do as Edie and the doctor try to help Brittany. She stares into her lap, unable to control the constant bouncing of her legs.

 

She wants to push them both out of the way, to wrap her arms around Brittany and tell her everything’s going to be okay. She knows all it will do is make Brittany worse. She’ll feel nauseous and angry, if she doesn’t already, and it’ll just make everything harder.

 

It doesn’t matter how hard the sounds of Brittany whimpering make things on her.

 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Edie mumbles, perched on the edge of the bed.

 

The doctor leaves and Santana looks up to see Brittany resting her head on Edie’s shoulder. Her gown is falling off one shoulder and she’s pale and clammy with sweat. When the doctor returns, she has a syringe of something that she shoots into the IV in Brittany’s arm. She doesn’t know what it is but Brittany’s shoulders relax after a while. Edie keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulder and Brittany looks exhausted.

 

//

 

They move Brittany to a different room about half an hour later. It’s bigger and has cupboards and counters lining the walls, glass doors revealing equipment and bandages. There’s a pile of stuff sitting on one of the counters and Edie helps Britt up onto the bed as the doctor moves to prepare it all.

 

A weird C-shaped machine sits in the corner of the room and everyone around them is pulling on weird aprons as they move it closer to Brittany. She doesn’t even really notice. Her good hand covers her eyes as Edie supports her broken wrist and she swallows slowly, like she needs to vomit but can’t. The doctor prepares some syringes and Santana watches carefully as she brings them over and sets them on the counter beside her. She sits beside Brittany and takes her arm, bringing it out so that it’s over the machine.

 

It’s weird when pictures of Brittany’s bones show up on the monitor. It unsettles Santana in a way that she doesn’t like. It’s all too revealing and all she can think about is that those are Brittany’s bones, they’re the things that keep her together and they’re fragile. She hates the idea that Brittany is that easily broken.

 

“Okay, Brittany…” the doctor says. “Your wrist is more displaced than I thought but not so much that it’s going to need surgery, okay?” Brittany nods slowly. “But it does mean that it’s probably going to hurt a lot more regardless of how much pain relief and sedative I give you. Do you understand?”

 

With a strong jaw, Brittany nods timidly, soothed only by Edie’s hand on her shoulder. Santana watches her carefully and feels a buzzing throughout her body that she doesn’t like. It’s desperation, a need. Her hands and feet itch to stand up and soothe Brittany.

 

Santana listens as Edie tells her that the sedative the doctor is giving her will probably make her feel weird and it doesn’t take long before her eyelids droop slightly. Her body goes soft and pliant. Santana sees no tension or worry anymore. It makes her feel more than nervous.

 

And after nineteen years of being used to hospitals because of her dad, it’s strange that all of this feels unfamiliar. The doctor grabs a syringe and Brittany physically winces when she pushes a shot of something into the area around her wrist before grabbing a second, bigger syringe. She feels around, checks the pictures on the screen before jabbing the needle right into where the break is. Brittany yelps out in pain, her once soft body going quickly going rigid, and Santana jumps at the sound of it.

 

“Santana, come here,” Edie says and Santana follows her feet until she’s standing beside the woman.

 

Brittany’s head shakes as the doctor keeps pushing the needle into her skin, pulling the plunger back until blood seeps into the clear liquid inside of it. She whimpers when it hurts, and Santana clutches at the bars on the side of the bed to stop herself from grabbing her. It only lasts a few seconds because, when Brittany lets out a sharp, real, moan of pain, she grabs for her hand and holds it tightly.

 

And even though her eyes are closed, it’s like Brittany knows exactly whose hand it is. She brushes it off sharply, grunting and thrashing a little until they have to settle her down again.

 

Edie soothes her anger but it doesn’t really work because hopeless tears just start dripping down Brittany’s cheeks and onto her neck.

 

“Okay, now we’re going to put your wrist back into place, Brittany,” the doctor says. “Edie I’m going to need your help over here, okay?”

 

Edie nods and turns to Santana, her eyes are dark and understanding. For a second, Santana feels like the woman knows more about her than anyone else in this room, more than she even knows herself. She lets go of holding Brittany’s shoulder and speaks to her quietly.

 

“Britt, sweetie, it’s gonna hurt,” she says softly. “Let Santana hold your hand.”

 

Brittany shakes her head. “No,” she says adamantly but the pain weakens her words. Santana swallows and looks around the room to find eyes looking at her curiously. It makes her feel embarrassed. “I don’t want her here.”

 

“Well, she’s here, Britt,” Edie says carefully. “And, at the end of the day, that’s got to count for something hasn’t it?”

 

“Edie…” the doctor says, beckoning her.

 

Edie looks up at Santana apologetically, squeezing her arm as she moves around to the other side of the bed. Santana moves closer to Brittany, nearer to her face and watches her cry. She can’t do any of the things she wants to, even if they feel like the most inherent and desperate things in the world.

 

Instead, she feels her own tears well too, especially when the doctor begins to roughly pull on Brittany’s arm until she’s sobbing and yelping in pain. She tugs on it and pushes at the place where Santana knows she’s broken. The sounds of Brittany’s sobs come deep from within her. Her stomach puffs in and out from the unsteadiness of her breathing, from the natural need to try and ease the pain herself. Her cheeks are soaked with tears and the sensation that Santana feels inside of her is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It takes her everything not to leave the room.

 

“Britt…” she mumbles, her mouth dropping, not knowing what to do. Tears drip down her own cheeks like she’s the one in pain, only she wishes that were true. She wishes the pain were hers because she’ll take it gladly if it means she doesn’t have to see Brittany like this.

 

Brittany squirms away from the doctor, her sobs sharper, more breathier, like it almost hurts to do that too when the pulling gets rougher. Santana hears the doctor and Edie muttering between them, hears Edie whispering out soothing words over the noises of pain. It feels like there’s something wrong and Santana glances up to find the doctor trying not to look panicked, her brow sweating and her hands holding Brittany’s wrist tightly.

 

Edie’s eyes find hers quickly and Santana sees all the things she doesn’t say staring back at her.

 

She doesn’t even think when she understands them.

 

Instead, she ignores all of Brittany’s wishes and leans down to comfort her. One hand presses to her shoulder to keep her still while the other strokes her hair to soothe her. Brittany pushes against the pressure when she feels it but Santana’s too ready for her and leans forward, pressing her lips to her forehead as she hums out gentle words.

 

Weirdly, comforting her is the first time Santana’s felt normal in days. Her heart beats to a steady rhythm and her skin doesn’t feel like it’s crawling. She feels safe and secure. She feels comfortable.

 

Brittany still tries to fight but only until Santana starts to wipe away her tears and clutch at her cheek.

 

“Just stop,” she whispers gently, hoping only Brittany can hear. “Just stop and let me help you.”

 

And it’s strange how quickly the fight leaves her. Her body stops tensing and her tears lessen slightly. Santana whispers words that her brain doesn’t even process into Brittany’s hairline, smoothing the lines from her brow and the tears from her cheeks. Her words somehow have the same effect as the sedative and Brittany’s body softens and relaxes, calming itself even as it endures the pain.

 

“You’re okay, you’re okay…” Santana whispers. “They’re almost done… they’re almost done…” she tells her, even though she doesn’t even know. “Just a little bit more and it’ll all be over. You’re doing so good.”

 

Brittany whimpers and the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. She swallows it away and blames the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin. Brittany’s body tenses momentarily and Santana catches her other hand clutched into the sheets beside her. The doctor continues to pull at Brittany’s wrist but the movements are less frantic, less panicked, almost reassuring. Santana takes advantage of the last few moments she has left and nuzzles her nose into the bridge of Brittany’s, kisses her eyebrow. She runs her finger over the softest part of her cheek and lets her breath catch when Brittany lets out the softest of sighs when the pulling stops.

 

“All done, Britt…” Edie says and her voice is different than it was before. “You did great. All done.”

 

When blue eyes open, Santana knows that the moment is over. They look at her just as they did before, only darker. In an instant, Santana knows that she’s made things worse, that there are probably a million other things that Brittany’s mad at her for now. She’s completely expressionless and it unsettles Santana more than anything else. She moves away slowly, so as not to spook her or upset her anymore, until the only thing remaining is the fingers on her cheek and the hand on her shoulder.

 

“Can you let go of me, please?” Brittany says and Santana doesn’t move. Instead, she nods and takes her hands away slowly until they’re at her side. 

 

They look at each other and Santana wipes away her tears, pretending they were never there. She knows that Brittany saw them anyway. She looks away from her a second later, to where the doctor is asking her questions. Santana breathes out uneasily and backs further away, until she hits another body and finds Edie.

 

The woman smiles in sympathetic understanding and guides her to the chair in the corner. “You did good,” she mutters softly. “But you need to sit here until we’ve taken some x-rays.”

 

//

 

The cast on Brittany’s arm goes from above her elbow to just before her fingers. It’s large and looks uncomfortable, but Brittany’s so out of it she doesn’t seem to care as they wrap her in plaster and padding. Edie holds her arm awkwardly in the air as the doctor finishes it up but she just looks cold and sleepy, just like they said she would.

 

They let her curl up into a ball once they’re done and Santana smiles at the doctor in thanks as she signs her paperwork and leaves the room. Edie lingers behind and clears everything away, tossing packaging into trash cans and syringes into special containers. She covers Brittany with a blanket and checks her over quickly before turning to Santana.

 

“We’re gonna let her sleep it off for a while,” Edie says, clasping her hands in front of her. Santana takes it as a sign to listen. “The sedative will be in her system for at least 24 hours and she’s gonna feel really shitty for a while. She’s probably going to be in a lot of pain too. We’re gonna wait for her to wake up a bit, see how she is, and then stitch up her elbow.”

 

Santana nods and brushes her hair from her face. She probably looks like crap but it doesn’t really matter right now.

 

“She’s going to need to come back for a follow up x-ray in about a week,” Edie goes on. “Then again in two weeks maybe. She’s not going to be able to do a lot and she might swell. We’ll give her some painkillers and she should be okay.”

 

“Okay,” Santana nods. “And she just has to ice the bruises?”

 

“And the ankle,” Edie corrects.

 

“Oh,” Santana says. “Sure, of course.” She grits her jaw from where it weirdly wants to shake with the need to cry for no reason. “Why are you telling me this now?”

 

Edie breathes in deeply. “Because she’s asleep,” she explains. “And because I don’t want her getting upset when she wakes up and she might if I explain in front of you or to you. She’s…” Edie trails off. “She seems really pissed at you, which I guess is understandable if you just broke up—”

 

“We didn’t _just_ break up,” Santana cuts through her. Edie stops and stares at her and it makes her feel so uncomfortable that she forces herself to explain. “We broke up almost… fifteen months ago, I guess. I moved to Kentucky for college… It was really hard.”

 

Edie nods, her face contorted in confusion like she doesn’t understand a word of what Santana’s saying. “And that’s why she’s looking at you like she wants to kill you?”

 

Santana shakes her head.

 

“No?” Edie asks.

 

Santana swallows. “We slept together.”

 

Edie smirks. “And?”

 

“Things got weird,” Santana shrugs.

 

Edie laughs. “Of course they did.”

 

Santana swallows and shrugs. “Any advice?”

 

That just makes Edie laugh harder. She shakes her head and turns away from Santana for a second, tidying the counters around her. Santana’s brow furrows and she’s ready to bitch out this woman until she realizes that she kind of scares her… and that the control of Brittany’s pain medication is in her hands.

 

“What?” she asks bitterly.

 

Edie smiles at her and she almost looks fond for someone who only met her a couple of hours ago. “You don’t need my advice,” she says.

 

“Why?” Santana asks quietly.

 

Edie moves closer to her and uses a finger to lift her chin. She inspects her carefully, turning her face from one side to the other before shaking her head with a sigh. She gives Santana a light tap on the cheek before turning away from her again. Santana just sits there and wonders what the hell is going on.

 

“You don’t need my advice, Santana Lopez, because there is only one outcome for this situation…” Edie smirks and slips the pen on the counter into the pocket of her scrubs. “And that’s the long and short of it.”

 

Santana stares at her as she starts to leave. “What outcome?” she asks.

 

Edie gives her a grin.

 

“You’ll figure it out.”

 

//

 

Brittany’s much more alert once she wakes up.

 

A doctor comes by to take out her IV and fix her elbow and she sips on a cup of hospital coffee while Santana remains forgotten and ignored in the corner. Brittany barely winces as he sutures her elbow, doesn’t flinch when he injects her with more local drugs to numb the pain. She talks to him politely, telling him about how she fell and what injuries she has. It’s the first time that Santana finds out about where the bruises are starting to come out and she takes a mental note to remember.

 

Edie comes in just as the doctor is covering her elbow with a dressing. Her arms are full of stuff and Santana watches as she dumps it all by Brittany’s feet at the end of the bed. She brushes her hands off on her scrub top and turns to Santana pointing at the duffel bag. Santana brings it to her quickly, handing it to her before trying to escape.

 

It doesn’t work when Edie grabs her arm and keeps her there. Brittany avoids her eye and remains looking at Edie.

 

“Okay, I have your appointments for your follow up x-rays…” Santana watches as she holds up a sheet of paper in her hands. She gives it to Brittany who holds it in her lap and looks at it curiously. “I also brought you some extra dressings, some tape, ace wrap, band aids…” Edie looks down at the stuff before stopping and holding up a hand. “Hang on, I need to get you a sling but you have to get dressed first.”

 

Brittany stares for a moment before nodding. “Okay…” she says and sits up slowly, waiting for her help.

 

Edie smiles. “Okay, get to it. I’ll be right back.”

 

//

 

Brittany doesn’t get dressed straight away. She just stares ahead of her in disbelief before Santana breaks the silence with the sound of the bag unzipping. She swallows nervously and runs her hands over the clothes that she pulls out. The sweatpants come first, then the layers of t-shirts.

 

“I thought that they’d be comfier than jeans and stuff,” Santana mumbles as she piles pairs of socks and clean fresh underwear in a pile beside her. She pulls out Brittany’s NYU sweatshirt before she thinks better of it and puts it back in the bag. Instead she pulls out a plaid shirt and begins to unbutton the sleeves on the left arm.

 

When she’s done, she tosses the bag on the floor before playing with the sheets at the edge of the bed.

 

“Do you… want me to stand outside?” Santana asks. Brittany huffs out a large breath. “Is that a yes?”

 

When Brittany doesn’t say anything, Santana moves to stand outside the curtain anyway.

 

//

 

It isn’t until Santana’s heard Brittany drop the sweatpants for the fifth time that she thinks she should do something.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks through the curtain. She hears her drop something else before the crash of what sounds like the supplies falling to the floor fills her ears. “Britt?” There’s no response. “Britt, I’m coming in.”

 

When she walks in, her heart clenches at what she sees. Brittany’s in the chair that she just vacated, all the clothes and all the supplies littering the floor with all the blankets and pillows too. Brittany stares into her lap and Santana sighs before moving towards her.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks, softer this time. Brittany shakes her head.

 

“No,” she says and sighs loudly. She’s acting more like a bratty teenager now than in the entire duration that Santana’s known her. “Can you help me please?”

 

Santana nods slowly. “Sure,” she whispers and doesn’t wait before she bends to the floor and picks up the clothes. She piles them all atop the duffel before she kneels in front of Brittany and pulls it towards her.

 

She picks up some socks first. The floor is colder than she thought and Brittany’s barefoot. Santana rolls the socks over her fingers, stretching them until she can push them onto Brittany’s feet. Brittany sits back and doesn’t watch her but Santana thinks it would be weird if she were. Especially when Santana finishes with the socks and pulls fresh underwear up her legs instead. Brittany winces as the fabric goes over the curve of her ass and, when the hospital gown lifts, Santana sees the bruises starting to stretch up her thighs and around her hips to her ass. She moves around quickly to make sure that they’re settled comfortably on her body and Brittany lets out a slow breath as she smooths out the fabric.

 

She quickly pushes the sweatpants up Brittany’s legs, just to prevent further embarrassment.

 

It’s not until Santana’s trying to untie all the knots on her hospital gown that she remembers what happens next. They tied one gown on the right way but another one on backwards when Brittany was moved and Santana is okay while she’s doing the front one, but when she has to face the bare, black-bruised skin of Brittany’s back, her hands start to shake.

 

“Do you want a bra?” she asks, trying to keep cool.

 

Brittany turns slightly to look at her. “Did you bring one?”

 

Santana swallows. “No.”

 

“I wasn’t wearing one when I got here,” Brittany tells her. Santana nods and unties the gown anyway.

 

And it’s not the huge bruise that’s starting to form on Brittany’s back, or the dry streaks of blood up the backs of her arms and body, that catch Santana’s attention first. It’s the small bruises that litter her chest. Tiny round bruises, dotted with teeth marks and speckled with blood catch her eye first and Brittany watches her carefully as she eyes them. She doesn’t say anything but she actually looks at Santana for the first time since she arrived.

 

Santana has to swallow away the need to speak, the need to apologize and explain. It’s all she really wants to do but she knows that Brittany doesn’t want to hear it. Instead she turns away and reaches for the too-big NYU shirt and gathers it into her hands.

 

Thankfully, Brittany’s no longer looking at her when she turns back and they both stare at her cast as they struggle to get the t-shirt over it before slipping it over the rest of her body. Santana can’t help but wonder about what’s going to happen for the next two weeks… or even the four weeks after that. She’s not sure she’ll be able to handle six weeks of being this up close and personal with Brittany if she’s going to be this mad all the time but she doesn’t think there’s anyone else. She’d do it willingly but she knows that it won’t make anything better. She knows it will only make things worse.

 

“Here,” she whispers, pulling herself out of her thoughts and reaching for the plaid shirt. “It’s still really cold outside. Put this on.”

 

She’s glad when Brittany does as she asks. She even lets Santana fasten the buttons, slowly starting from the bottom until she gets to the top. When Brittany holds out her arm, the sleeves of her shirt hiding away her fingers, her request goes unspoken. Santana instantly reaches up to fold the sleeves back, finding no argument when she does the same thing over the cast.

 

Santana’s helping Brittany to put on a pair of red chucks when Edie returns. She’s got more things in her hands and she barely glances at them as she puts it all down onto the bed again.

 

“Oh good,” she smiles when she finally looks at them properly. “You’re done. Great. Stand up for me.”

 

Brittany does as she’s told with Santana’s help before Edie steps over and begins manhandling her arm to where she wants it. She pulls a piece of blue fabric off of the bed and Santana watches as she tucks Brittany’s arm into the fold of it, making her elbow snug in the corner. She pulls the straps over Brittany’s head so it snugly fits around her back. She tightens it until it’s where it should be before she looks up at Brittany and smiles.

 

Brittany gives her a reluctant smile back. “Can I leave now?” she asks.

 

Edie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Not quite. We need to talk about pain relief.”

 

Brittany stops before she shrugs. “I’ll take some Advil.”

 

Edie stares at her for a moment before giving her a knowing smile. “Sweetie, you might think that it’s stopped hurting now, okay, but you’re still riding the morphine wave. Along with that, you’ve been filled with lidocaine as well as some other stuff. You’re probably not feeling the pain now but come tomorrow morning when your bruises have come out and your hip is stiff from where you fell on it… that’s when you’re gonna be needing something a bit stronger than Advil.”

 

Brittany shrugs and shakes her head, shuffling her arm in her sling and moving around the cubicle.

 

“What are we talking here?” Santana asks, watching Brittany for a reaction.

 

Edie reaches into the pocket of her scrub top and pulls out a piece of paper. “Vicoprofen. Dr. Knowles asked me to offer it to you. It’s there if you want it. I’d completely understand if you didn’t. I’d think you’re foolish, but I’d understand.”

 

“I don’t want it,” Brittany says at the same time that Santana reaches for the prescription. Brittany turns to her and shakes her head. “I don’t want it,” she repeats, reaching to take it from her. When Santana lifts her arm in the air, out of her reach. She glares at her. “I _don’t_ want it, Santana.”

 

Santana ignores her even though her head is screaming at her to just give the damn thing up. She holds it higher and keeps her gaze at Brittany stern, adamant in her refusal. She doesn’t want to see Brittany in pain for the next God knows how long, all because she’s too stubborn. She doesn’t want to be arguing with her about this for the next six weeks. She’s heard her father talk about stubborn patients. He always says that he knows he’ll see them again soon because they don’t listen. They don’t want the help they’re being offered until they’re forced to have it.

 

Brittany steps closer to her and, instead of moving away like she wants to, Santana moves closer to her. Brittany’s eyes are wild and dark, her pupils large and dangerous. Her skin is pale but there’s a dark blush to her cheeks that makes Santana nervous. She swallows as discreetly as she can and holds still.

 

“Give me it,” Brittany warns but her voice is quiet, like she doesn’t want Edie to hear.

 

Santana shakes her head. “No,” she says. “Just in case.”

 

Brittany’s whole body shakes with the anger inside of her. It scares Santana that she can do this to her, that she can make Brittany, the happiest person she knows, turn into this person full of anger and hate.

 

“Give it to me now, Santana…” she asks and her voice is harder, sharper. “Give it to me or I’ll…”

 

“You’ll what?” Santana asks because she’s curious to know what Brittany thinks she’s capable of. Brittany doesn’t say anything, she just breathes hard and clenches the one fist she can. Santana shakes her head and sighs. “Just in case, Britt. That’s all I’m saying.”

 

“I don’t _want_ _it_!” Brittany shouts and before Santana can realize, Edie’s found a way between them and pushed Santana aside.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey…” she whispers. Her hands go to Brittany’s shoulders and rub soothingly to calm her down. Brittany stares over Edie’s head at Santana, and Santana doesn’t do anything but fold the prescription and put it in her pocket. Edie looks back at her and sighs. “Why don’t you go wait outside?”

 

Santana takes one more look at Brittany before nodding.

 

“Sure,” she nods. “I’ll be in the hall.”

 

//

 

Edie finds her at the pharmacy twenty minutes later. She’s scraping through her coat pockets to find more cash and the pharmacist behind the counter just looks bored when she tells him for the fifth time that she needs this fifty for a cab.

 

“Hey dumbass,” someone calls and Santana jumps at the voice. She stops what she’s doing and waits. Edie steps up to her and Santana stares at the money in her hands as she tosses something down onto the counter. “Need this?”

 

Santana looks and finds Brittany’s insurance card sitting there. She looks up at the pharmacist who’s too busy looking at Edie.

 

“Hey, Edie…” he says kindly. “Friend of yours?”

 

Edie smiles back at him. “Phil,” she says. “This is Santana. She’s here to get her ex-girlfriend’s Vicoprofen.”

 

Phil smiles. “I heard.” He takes the card and Santana watches as he disappears behind the counter. She hears some keys tapping before he hands back the card and takes a twenty and a five from Santana’s hands. “Give me five minutes.”

 

He disappears again and Santana stands there, playing with her cash and waiting for Edie to speak. When she doesn’t, Santana has to break the silence.

 

“Where is she?” she asks softly.

 

Edie remains staring ahead, her hands folded together at her front. “Wanda’s helping her pack her things. She can go home when you’re ready.”

 

Santana nods. “If I get a cab, can you bring her outside?”

 

Edie glances at her quickly before nodding. “Sure,” she utters softly before they lapse back into silence. “Is there anybody who can help y—”

 

“No,” Santana cuts her off, knowing the question. “We’re from Ohio and all the people we know here are with their families. There’s no one to help until next week.” Santana pauses. “Hopefully she’ll be able to look at me without glaring by then.”

 

Edie smiles softly and as Santana looks at her, really looks at her, she sees that she looks tired. There are bags under her eyes and lines around her features. In that moment, Santana realizes she doesn’t have to be scared of this woman. She has to admire her.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Edie says. “I think you’re doing the right thing.” Santana’s brow furrows. “We see too many people through this place that have people with them who just agree to everything because they’re sick and they have to… We see so many people who are willing to just agree because they don’t really care what happens… they just want the trouble to go away.” She pauses before going on. “We don’t see enough people who are willing to do whatever it takes to make sure someone gets better. Selfless people.”

 

Santana blushes and looks down at her hands. She shakes her head. “I’m not selfless.”

 

Edie looks at her like she’s the most naïve thing in the world.

 

“I think you are,” she says quietly. Santana just stares. “I’ll have her out the front in ten.”

 

Santana nods and Edie leaves.

 

//

 

It’s raining by the time they leave the hospital.

 

After days of snow, it’s kind of annoying. Santana stands by her hailed cab and hides herself in her coat, hands clenched tightly in her pockets as she waits for them to bring out Brittany.

 

Edie holds an umbrella over her head when they finally bring her outside. Santana pushes her glasses up her nose to watch them closely and steps up to help Wanda when she struggles to control the wheelchair over the slippery sidewalk.

 

Brittany gets up from it without a word and holds her duffel bag in her useable hand as she gets into the cab. It’s hard for her but she doesn’t ask for help. Santana’s glad that Edie gives it to her anyway, taking the bag from her and helping her in. Brittany thanks her quietly and takes the bag back, not saying anything as Santana turns around to check with them both that they’re good to go.

 

“Don’t forget her follow up appointment,” Edie says quietly.

 

Santana nods. “I won’t. Do I bring her here?”

 

“You need to take her to x-ray but you can come find one of us and we’ll take you,” Edie says kindly. Santana gets the feeling that Edie kind of likes them.

 

Wanda hums out a sound of agreement. “We’re always damn here,” she mutters around a sigh. “And just make sure that you bring her in a better mood next time.”

 

Santana smiles but the words make her feel nervous. “I’ll try my best,” she whispers.

 

Edie leans over and squeezes her elbow.

 

“Good luck, kid.”

 

Santana nods and gets in the cab.

 


	4. Positives

 

They don’t talk the whole way home. Rain beats down heavily on the top of the cab and the driver talks away to nobody in particular about every thought he’s ever had.

 

Brittany’s duffel separates them and when Santana turns to look at her, she always finds her staring out of the window. Her face is expressionless and all Santana can wonder is what she’s thinking, if she’s in pain, if she needs anything. She doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask her questions, if she’ll get mad once she finds out that Santana filled the prescription and that it rattles around in her coat pocket.

 

She wonders, for what feels like the millionth time, what the hell is going to happen in the coming days.

 

When the cab stops outside their building, Santana isn’t prepared for Brittany to talk to her. She’s in a world of her own, wondering and worrying, but quickly breaks out of it when Brittany speaks.

 

“I don’t have enough cash on me,” She says quietly. “Can I borrow like… twenty bucks?”

 

Santana stares before her brain kicks in.

 

“No—I mean, don’t worry about it…” She trails off when Brittany just stares at her and swallows deeply. “I’ll get it. It’s fine.”

 

She gets out of the cab to hand over the money and panics when Brittany’s door opens. She shoves cash at the driver as Brittany struggles to get out of the cab by herself and he looks at her in bewilderment, shoving money back at her, before she runs around to the other side of the car.

 

She’s surprisingly too late and Brittany’s already halfway up their front stoop by the time she makes it to the curb. She tries to get beside her but Brittany just waves her off stubbornly, her eyes dark and full of warning when Santana tries to put a guiding arm around her and open the front door. It makes her hang back and she keeps her distance as Brittany opens the door herself and heads up the stairs.

 

And it takes her at least four times longer than normal to get to their floor, but Santana doesn’t interfere, keeping her distance far enough that she can intervene if she needs to. She stands at the top of the stairwell as Brittany heads for their door and doesn’t say anything when Brittany struggles with her keys the minute she gets them out of her pocket.

 

Santana wonders if Brittany’s regretting all the key chains because she can’t even grip the bunch in her hands. She can’t even negotiate all of them in her fingers and they slip in her hand as she tries to find the right key. Santana’s not even sure why she has so many. Brittany’s mom doesn’t lock their front door and there’s never any room for Brittany’s car in the garage. They only have two locks on their front door and one for the mailbox. It’s something she’s never really thought about until she spends five minutes staring at Brittany struggling and not being able to help her.

 

“Can you quit looking at me like that?” Brittany mumbles.

 

Santana doesn’t even jolt when she speaks. Instead, with her hands in her pockets, she narrows her eyes. “How am I looking at you?”

 

Brittany sighs as she drops the keys for the fifth time. “Like I’m some pathetic loser.”

 

The words make Santana’s chest tighten and she swallows away the need to correct Brittany in favor of telling her the truth. “Actually, I was wondering why you had so many keys.”

 

Brittany scoffs and shakes her head. The look on her face could only be described as disgust.

 

“Shut up, Santana,” she whispers and Santana does, not even saying anything when Brittany finally opens the door, fifteen more minutes later.

 

//

 

Santana goes to her room when she gets inside.

 

She ignores Brittany as she slumps down onto the couch and goes straight to her room, choosing to take her coat and boots off before she faces anything else. Tubbs is laying on her bed and, any other time, she’d be yelling at him to get off her new sheets but instead she just bends down and scratches him between the ears.

 

“She’s home, Tubbs,” she whispers and it makes her laugh when he lets out a meow of happiness before leaving the room.

 

She sits down in the place he vacates and runs her hands over her eyes. She’s tired but there’s nothing she can do about it yet. When she’s sure Brittany’s okay, maybe she’ll think about it but… she knows that won’t be any time soon.

 

She can hear her struggling in the living room and she listens carefully, trying to understand what’s going on. She figures it must be something not good when Tubbs runs back into her room a few minutes later and curls himself around her feet. He meows, lower and softer, and Santana almost feels like she can understand him.

 

She walks to her doorway before stopping, watching carefully as Brittany hisses and curses while attempting to take off her shoes. And, sure, maybe Converse weren’t the best idea to give her, especially when she has one broken wrist and a barely moveable other arm. She only has half of her coat off too. One arm remains hidden beneath the fabric as she thrashes to remove it and her shoes at the same time.

 

Santana decides that she can’t sit around and wait for Brittany to stop being stubborn and ask. She’s not even sure if she can even be bothered with asking. She knows that Brittany will say no regardless and that’s all she thinks about as she steps up to the back of the couch and helps Brittany to pull the rest of her coat off.

 

She tries to push her away but it only lasts about five seconds when Santana increases her grip on the coat. Brittany scoffs under her breath and gives in, letting Santana help her until the coat is in her hands. Santana folds the coat over her arm and watches as Brittany tries to untie her shoelaces fruitlessly before she speaks.

 

“Would you like some help?” she asks softly.

 

Brittany doesn’t turn around, just shakes her head and straightens her back.

 

“No, I’m fine,” she says and Santana nods before leaving her.

 

//

 

The black bags under her eyes are huge. She presses her fingers to them as she stands in the bathroom, toothbrush in one hand.

 

She looks different. She feels different. Her body feels older and she wonders if it’s because she’s tired or purely because she really is. She doesn’t feel the kind of tired that sleeping would fix. She feels the mentally tired, the emotionally tired. She feels the kind of tired that keeps her awake rather than making her fall asleep.

 

She’s sitting on the edge of the bath with her head in her hands when she hears a loud crash coming from somewhere else in the apartment.

 

She hears the smash next and she jumps up with a gasp, her feet leading before her brain as she heads towards it. Her chest is heaving when she gets to the kitchen, the cursing and mumbling getting louder the nearer she gets. Her feet slip along the floor as she gets to the doorway and she sighs in relief at what she sees, even as panic and worry grow quickly inside of her.

 

Because she doesn’t know what to think when she sees Brittany.

 

All she knows is that there’s water all over the kitchen floor, littered with the shards of one of their coffee cups. Their tea kettle sits upturned amongst it all and Santana gasps when she sees that Brittany’s still Converse-covered feet are soaking wet.

 

And she doesn’t know what she’s thinking when she steps into the puddle of water with no regard for her own safety. All she’s worried about is the fact that Brittany’s already lost most of the use of both arms; scalding her feet would just top the whole damn thing off.

 

Except she’s shocked when she finds the water is freezing cold, that Brittany’s utterances of noise are pure annoyance instead of pain.

 

The climb from panic into relief is so fast that it makes Santana feel dizzy. She falls back against the wall, indescribable anger welling inside of her for no reason whatsoever.

 

But Brittany just sighs in annoyance when she sees her. “What?!” she demands roughly and Santana just stares at her for a moment before she allows the anger spew out of her.

 

“‘What?’” she repeats incredulously. “That’s _seriously_ what you’re gonna say to me?” Santana offers out her hands, lost for words. “Like you don’t expect me to come running out here when it sounds like you’re fucking destroying our kitchen?!” Brittany continues to look at her angrily but doesn’t say anything. “Britt, you could have fucking hurt yourself, do you realize that?” Heat rises to Santana’s cheeks in uncontrollable anger. “You could have scalded yourself or worse, for God’s sake! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

 

When Brittany doesn’t respond straight away, Santana steps into the water, letting it soak into her socks as she tries to grab a towel from the counter. It gets grabbed from her a second later and Santana almost slips as Brittany tugs it towards her. She lets go of it quickly and steadies herself on the counter.

 

“What the fuck, Britt?!” she yells but she’s cut off by Brittany’s voice.

 

“Just GO!” she screams and when Santana looks up at her, her eyes are glassy and clouded with rage. “Just leave me the hell alone, okay?! I don’t need your help. I don’t need you treating me like I’m an idiot; so just leave me the hell alone, okay? I don’t need it. I don’t need _you_.”

 

Santana feels the anger swell, feels herself aching with the need for answers and the catharsis of just letting everything go. Breaths pant from her and she doesn’t know whether she’s going to scream or sob when she grabs Brittany’s good arm as she tries to turn away.

 

“What is your problem?” she demands, grabbing tighter when Brittany tries to yank her arm back.

 

She looks angrier than Santana’s ever seen, angrier than Santana thought was possible for her to be. She struggles to get out of her grasp but Santana refuses to let go until Brittany pushes against her grip, moving closer until they’re almost nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest. Brittany glares at Santana and her anger is a cloud of warmth that Santana refuses to leave. She doesn’t want to let go. She’s too desperate for all of this to end to care about what happens.

 

“You _know_ what my problem is!” Brittany spits. “You know what it is so don’t pretend you don’t. You know what you did.”

 

A mirthless laugh leaves Santana’s mouth. She shakes her head and she almost feels disappointed in Brittany in a way she never thought she would.

 

“That’s _it_?”  She asks quietly. “Is that really what all this _shit_ is about? Because I accused you of being a cheat?! Are you fucking kidding me, Brittany?” She shakes her head and Brittany is strangely quiet. Santana laughs again and finally lets Brittany go, giving her a shove away for good measure. “You never told me you broke up with Sam. You never told me that it was over between you!” Santana turns away before spinning back to her. “Jesus Christ, Britt! What the hell was I supposed to think?! You don’t tell me anything! We’re supposed to be friends but I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore! I sure as hell don’t know _this_ you!”

 

“And I’m supposed to believe that you tell me everything?!” Brittany bites back quickly. “That _I’m_ the only dishonest one here?!”

 

Santana scoffs and steps closer. “Britt, I told you about Quinn. I told you more than I ever wanted to tell you about Quinn, or Carolyn or anyone else for that matter.” She clenches her fist to contain the anger that overwhelms her. “Dammit, Britt! I even told you about a girlfriend who wasn’t even real! I had to learn about you and Sam from Tina _fucking_ Cohen-Chang!”

 

“And how the hell was I supposed to tell you that, huh?!” Brittany yells back but there’s a slight falter in her voice, an insecurity. “We were barely talking to each other!”

 

“I don’t know, Brittany, but it’s kind of one of the things you’d expect your ex to have the decency to tell you herself!” Santana’s voice quivers and she looks at Brittany like she’s never seen her before. “But I’m not even talking about stuff like that Britt. I’m talking about the fact that I tell you every single thing that I can but the repercussions of every little single thing that happens between us are on your terms. I told you about Quinn and you didn’t speak to me for _days_ , Britt. You tried to kiss me and when I moved away we stopped talking _again_. We slept together and I tried to do the mature thing but now here we are and everything is fucked up. I didn’t want to hurt you or your fucking boyfriend and you get pissed at me because you think I’m accusing you of cheating?!” Santana walks out of the kitchen, not wanting to be near her anymore, throwing words over her shoulder. “I didn’t even know you weren’t together and it’s all because I _should_ have known that you wouldn’t move here if it wasn’t over? What the fuck does that even mean, Britt?!”

 

Brittany follows her and Santana’s glad because she can feel all her words bubbling up in her throat at once.

 

“And for the record,” Santana goes on. “When you text somebody saying ‘I need a favor from my best friend’ it pretty much tells them how you view them. It puts them in their fucking place. I thought you moved here to go to school, Brittany, because that’s what you told me you were moving here for. I would never assume that you came here for anything other than the reason you gave me. I would never assume anything of you because I want youto _tell me_.”

 

Brittany’s face drops and Santana doesn’t pay any attention to it. Her brain is too set on letting out all the stuff she wants to say.

 

Santana paces backwards and forwards around the living room as Brittany stands still in front of her. The words that bubble up her throat are words that she knows will change everything. They’ll give her answers. They’ll give her more questions. She knows they’ll give her more worries and sadness and tiredness than she knows how to handle.

 

“Did you move here for me?” she asks, biting the bullet and ripping off the band-aid.

 

Instantly, the anger leaves Brittany’s face. Her shoulders slump and her eyes flutter. She looks like she’s about to cry, like she knows she’s lost or something worse.

 

“How is that even a question?” she whispers and Santana glares at her until her shoulders slump even more. Her eyes close and she shakes her head in refusal, even as her mouth opens to speak. “Yes. I did.”

 

Santana rubs her hands over her face and shakes her head. She feels like she’s at the bottom of an avalanche and everything’s falling on top of her. Her chest feels tight and she breathes as evenly as she can, even as she feels like she may have a panic attack.

 

“Why?” she demands and Brittany flinches slightly at the question.

 

She swallows unevenly and her eyes close. She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. “I honestly don’t even know anymore.”   

 

Santana tries to remain calm. She stands still and covers her face with her hands again. She almost wants to claw her own eyes out, to pull at her own hair, just so that she’ll feel something else. Her heart beats erratically in her chest and it scares her just how alive she is after feeling so not for so long.

 

“That’s not an answer, Brittany,” she says lowly.

 

The anger inside of her feels unstoppable. It feels like a lifetime of words she’s never even realized she wanted to say rising up her throat from some unknown place inside of her and she can’t stop them. She can’t even slow them down. Her heart beats faster and faster the more she tries to swallow them away. They seem to rise quicker as she stares at Brittany. She wonders how Brittany can be so quiet and stoic right now when she feels so completely out of control. There’s some sick part of her that just wants Brittany to keep yelling at her, just so that she can yell back. She wants to see Brittany angry and upset and hurt. She wants to know everything, feel everything, hate everything. She wants to understand, to know what all of this has been for.

 

Words fly from her without her even thinking about it.

 

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Brittany. Stop being so fucking passive!” She shouts. “Open your damn mouth and say what you need to say instead of just standing there and waiting for me to ask! I’m sick of fucking guessing!”

 

A gasp rips from her own throat the minute the words leave them, like the closing of a vacuum because now all she wants to do is shut up. Her eyes widen as she watches Brittany’s mouth drop slowly, her expression changing from one of nothingness to one of complete disappointment. Santana’s so used to it that the feeling it gives her doesn’t even register anymore.

 

The only things that really strike her are Brittany’s glassy blue eyes, her pink cheeks and the fact that her own body has a once familiar urge to flee.

 

“Yeah?” Brittany says softly and Santana swallows and waits. A small part of her quietly works in the back of her brain, wondering where she could run to from here. It doesn’t get very far because, as Brittany takes a step closer, she remembers that no matter where she goes, this is their home. “You and me both, Santana.”

 

Santana breathes out when Brittany just stares at her with that same disappointed expression. Anger flares in blotches of red from Brittany’s chest, up her neck and to her face. Santana watches it as Brittany fixes her with furious blue eyes and waits for whatever’s coming as she pleads with herself to do something.

 

“If there’s one thing I’m sick and tired and just fucking _bored_ of… it’s guessing,” Brittany says, her voice level and steady. “Guessing what you want, guessing what I did wrong, guessing what the fuck we are, guessing what the hell is going to happen next… guessing what the hell happened to us… I’m just _sick_ of it, Santana.” Brittany shakes her head in disgust. “I’m sick of _you_. I’m sick of you being so fucking clueless, so fucking… stupid.”

 

“Brittany…” Santana whispers. She thinks she’s heard Brittany swear more than she’s heard her say that word.

 

“I don’t know how to tell you things, Santana…” Brittany says before she can say anything. “I don’t know how to tell you things because you’re so fucking… scared, all the fucking time. Telling you things is like winding up a jack-in-the-box… I know you’re gonna blow up at some point but I don’t know when or how badly. I don’t know how to make you not run away or not lash out. I don’t know how to fucking talk to you without something going wrong.”

 

“That’s not true—” Santana tries but Brittany releases a loud sound of frustration that cuts through her.

 

“God, you’re doing it now, Santana!” she says, her voice louder and angrier. “I can’t say one fucking thing to you without you becoming defensive.” She shakes her head.  “How the hell was I supposed to tell you that I started dating Sam eight weeks after we broke up? Look how you reacted four months later! You found a fake girlfriend and tried to win me back!”

 

“You didn’t tell me!” Santana says defensively.

 

Brittany laughs. “You fucking broke up with me! We hadn’t talked in weeks! I didn’t see you rolling over while you were in bed with Quinn Fabray and giving me a call to tell me you fucked her!”

 

“That’s different!” Santana shouts back.

 

“How?!” Brittany says around a laugh, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is louder than Santana thinks she’s ever heard it without her shouting. “How is it different?! We both found someone else to pass the time! We both found something to keep ourselves—”

 

“Because I didn’t try and fucking _marry_ Quinn!” Santana screams and Brittany stops. Her face falls and Santana knows that it’s her turn now. She watches Brittany carefully and shakes her head in her own, quiet and lost disappointment. “I fucked her twice when I was drunk and lonely at a wedding! I went down on her and I put my fingers inside of her… I didn’t promise to be with her until the end of the world. I didn’t let her tell me she loved me! I didn’t let her think that I would be hers for more than one night. I didn’t let her think that there was any possibility that I would ever love her!”

 

“No, I did that!” Brittany says quickly, jabbing a finger into her chest. “I let Sam love me. I let him do that because, guess what? You broke up with me!”

 

“So?”

 

“You broke up with me!” Brittany repeats incredulously. “You broke up with me because you didn’t want us to cheat. You broke up with me so that we could do the mature thing.” She pauses and takes a deep breath as the words fly from her. “You broke up with me, even though I didn’t want you to. You broke up with me and you took everything away! You took it all away!”

 

Santana looks at her in confusion. “What?!”

 

Brittany stares at her in disbelief before shaking her head and holding out not broken arm. “You!” she shouts. “Us! You took us and everything I’ve ever wanted away and for _what_?!” Santana stops and listens. “You took it all away and it felt like I was being punished. Like I was finally, _finally_ being punished for all the things I’d been scared of!” Brittany breathes out and shrugs her shoulders. “You don’t get it, do you?” she says eventually and Santana can’t help but notice the shake in her voice, the glassiness of her eyes and the way she keeps swallowing desperately. “You act like you’re the only one of us who has stood there and begged the other to love them but you’re not. You stand there and act like you did the right thing, but you didn’t. You act like some fucking martyr but you’re not. You’re not, you’re a fucking idiot, because you can’t even notice that since the minute I met you, I have been waiting for you, begging you quietly to love me, and then you did. You loved me but then you took it away. And for what, Santana? Because things got too hard? Because I got mad at both of us for loving each other so much that we didn’t even notice we were being ripped apart?” She stares at Santana incredulously, shaking her head and offering out her good arm at a loss. “It’s _bullshit_ ,” she spits and that’s when Santana sees the tears dripping down her cheeks. “It’s fucking scared bullshit because I would have waited for you.”

 

Santana feels her throat seizing up at the words, her chest aching as she feels her lungs start to forget what they’re supposed to do. They can’t keep up with her heart, beating out of her chest, as she listens to Brittany speak.

 

“And do you want to know what the pathetic thing is?” Brittany says and she doesn’t wait for an answer, she just speaks as the tears slide down her cheeks and onto her neck. “You _broke my heart_ and I am still waiting for you. You _ruined me_ for everyone else and I am still stupidly waiting for you. I’ll wait for you until the day I fucking die if I have to because, when it’s for you, that’s just what I have to do!”

 

Santana doesn’t say anything but that’s mostly because she’s not sure she can remember how to. She can barely breathe and Brittany just stares at her, looking at her like she’s waiting for some kind of reaction, some kind of sign that Santana understood her. It never comes. Santana just stares at her and tries to take in everything that she says. She tries to understand the sheer enormity of what Brittany’s just explained to her, knowing that that’s just the beginning of it.

 

“Did you know that I could have _died_ this year?” Brittany asks suddenly and it jolts Santana’s awareness. She suddenly remembers where she is and who she’s talking to. Brittany just narrows her gaze and sighs. “Did you even care?” she says softly and for a second, Santana’s not sure if she even meant to say it out loud.

 

She doesn’t respond, if only to give Brittany nothing to doubt.

 

“Do you wanna hear what happened?” Brittany asks. Santana swallows carefully and shakes her head as softly as she can. “Do you want to hear what happened to _me_?”

 

Santana doesn’t know how to answer. She doesn’t know what to say. There’s part of her that wants to tell Brittany that she knows what happened to her. She knows that the gun went off when Brittany was in the bathroom without her cellphone. She knows that Sam nearly put everyone at risk by trying to go find her. She knows that Mr. Schue found Brittany cowering in one of the stalls in the girls’ bathroom.

 

She heard it from Kurt who heard it through Blaine who got it from Sam.

 

She never called.

 

She didn’t know how. She didn’t know what to say.

 

She still doesn’t know how to wrap her mind around the fact that for too many minutes, Brittany thought she was going to die. She doesn’t know how to understand that there could have been a universe where Brittany Pierce died and she never got to say goodbye.

 

She doesn’t know how to explain to Brittany that she doesn’t know if she can listen. She doesn’t know if she can think about that, even as she wants to be placated of all the things she’s worried about.

 

Except it doesn’t matter.

 

Brittany doesn’t wait for her to answer anyway.

 

“I didn’t even go to the bathroom for a reason,” she begins instead and the words tumble out of her like they’ve been inside her too long. “I just didn’t want to listen to another one of Mr. Schue’s boring speeches.” She shrugs and Santana just watches her quietly. “I didn’t realize that guns were so _loud_ , you know? Like, there was no mistaking it. It was a gun.” She nods emphatically and Santana tries not to feel scared about something that she doesn’t need to be scared of anymore. “And then all I could hear was footsteps and screaming, and I just froze. All I could think was ‘ _this is it_. _This is how I’m gonna die._ _This is how everyone’s gonna remember me; as the second year senior who got shot’._ ” Santana feels the burn of vomit in her stomach, the urge to scream crawling up her throat. “One of the Sophmore Cheerios and this guy I didn’t recognize came into the bathroom and they were panicking and I didn’t say anything, I just walked into one of the stalls and closed the door.” She wipes her cheeks and Santana tries not to cry. “I stood on the toilet and tried to stay still. I could still hear people screaming and I was just waiting for more shots… louder screaming.”

 

Without warning, Brittany releases a sob. It makes Santana jump from her skin.

 

“It felt like I was standing there for _hours_ ,” she whimpers and her eyes flutter closed as she looks away. Santana watches her shamelessly. “I couldn’t feel my arms or my legs and I was just waiting for something. I was just waiting to _die_ and I mean… I thought McKinley was my safe place. I was so scared to leave that when I didn’t graduate I was kind of relieved but… when I was stood there just waiting to die all I could think about was how I shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t belong there. I should have tried harder and graduated because I didn’t belong there. I belonged _here_ , with you.”

 

Another sob rips from her and when she looks up into Santana’s eyes, Santana is frozen by the coldness and anger in her expression.

 

“So I may have done all those things, Santana. I may have almost married Sam. I may have let him love me but guess what?” Her expression is hard, even as the struggle in her voice betrays her. She sniffles and Santana can do nothing but listen. “When I was stood in that stall and I thought I was going to die, when the life I wanted flashed before my eyes, all I could think about was Sam and how he was the wrong person for me. I thought I was going to die and all I could do was regret not kissing you just a little bit longer that last time.” Her eyes close again and Santana watches wordlessly as overwhelmed tears roll down Brittany’s cheeks. “All I could do was wish that I’d stopped you from leaving me. All I could do was hate myself for losing you. All I could do was wish I’d never let you go.”

 

Santana lets herself stumble back against the living room wall as Brittany lets out a breathless sob. Her shoulders drop and she just stares ahead of her as Brittany stands there, heavy tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She avoids her eyes and tries to take in her words, wondering how two people can become this confused. No words come to her. She can barely think. She lifts her hands to her face to peel away her glasses and runs her palms over her face. She suddenly feels so tired that it makes her wonder if all of this is even real.

 

“When everything was over,” Brittany goes on. “When I didn’t _die_ … I didn’t know what to do. I told Sam that I could only think of him because it was only a half lie. I tried to just… forget everything and go back to how things were because it was easier. It was easier than turning my life upside down again. It was easier than admitting I felt out of control.” Santana watches her swallow as she talks low and fast. “When you left for Louisville I felt so out of control and I was just so freaking scared that I stayed with Sam because he was the only person who didn’t make me feel like I was spinning out of orbit when you left.”

 

Santana pushes her glasses back up her nose but doesn’t look at Brittany. She stares at her feet and lets her brain just stop thinking and listen.

 

“And then my acceptance letter came, and I texted you because I thought that it would be awesome to live with my best friend in New York, you know?”

 

Santana doesn’t speak but she does know that. To live in New York with her best friend is the only thing she’s wanted since before she could remember, before feelings and before break ups. But she doesn’t say that to Brittany. She’s never said that to Brittany.

 

“I didn’t tell anybody,” Brittany goes on. “I didn’t even tell my parents at first. I hid the letter because it was mine. No one could take it away if I didn’t tell anyone about it. And then, I guess that Kurt must have said something to Blaine because Sam came to my house demanding to know why I hadn’t told him about Tisch and he was saying we needed to make plans for him too.” Santana looks up then, shocked but also confused. “At first I thought that maybe it was the answer to everything but then something went wrong because all the plans we’d been making… they were just undoing better plans and ruining them and I got mad.” She shrugs. “I got so mad at him because he wanted to get an apartment of our own and he was going to get a job and all this other stuff…” She takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want that. And when I realized that I didn’t want that I realized all this other stuff too.”

 

Brittany’s face softens and Santana feels her own heart rate pick up at the sight of it. Tears still roll down Brittany’s cheeks and Santana’s not sure if they’re going to stop. She watches them carefully, watches Brittany carefully, just because.

 

“I didn’t want to date Sam,” Brittany says quietly. “But it was the only thing I could do not to lose him too.” She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t have sex with him because I couldn’t stand the thought of his or anyone else’s hands on me but yours. I didn’t let him move to New York with me—I broke up with him—because he was right when he said that I only wanted to be here because you are.”

 

For the first time, Santana sees something else other than anger and disappointment cross Brittany’s face. She watches her and she sees fear. She sees terror and worry. Brittany’s brow quivers as she watches her and Santana doesn’t know what to do. Her brain is starting to whir back into life, thinking a million things that she’s not ready for yet. Brittany shrugs and Santana’s not sure what happens next.

 

“He kept telling me that you wouldn’t want me anymore,” Brittany mutters quietly and there’s a lift in her voice, a mirthless amusement that Santana doesn’t understand. “He kept telling me that you would be over me and I just… I didn’t want to listen because you came back… you wanted _me_ back and maybe if I were here then things would be different. Maybe you’d see that everything could be how it used to be and it would be better and okay and… maybe when I first got here everything was great but the longer I’ve stayed here the further away you felt.”

 

Brittany lets out another little laugh and, for the first time, Santana sees it. She sees what Brittany’s really feeling. She understands where all this is coming from, all the anger and the disappointment…

 

She’s embarrassed.

 

“He was so sure that things wouldn’t work out once I got here,” Brittany mumbles and Santana takes an unsteady breath because she feels so bad. “He was so sure that I had it so wrong and I was so sure that _he_ had everything wrong that I just… I didn’t think, you know? I didn’t think and I just came here and I—I…”

 

Her eyes dart quickly to Santana’s and then away, realizing she’s probably said too much. Santana watches her and it’s like something clicks, like too many things click. Everything inside of her feels like it’s falling and she has to reach out a hand to steady herself as her body realizes what she needs to do before her head does.

 

“I just assumed, you know?” Brittany whispers and then there’s another laugh as she reaches her good arm up to swipe away the tears from one cheek.

 

The words leave Santana feeling off kilter because she _doesn’t_ know anymore. If anything, the last twenty-four hours have taught her that she doesn’t know anything. She wants to know what Brittany assumed because it sounds completely different to what she assumed when Brittany said that she was moving to New York. She wants to know how wrong she has everything, how much more everything is ruined because she was so blind again.

 

“Britt,” she breathes and she hates how shaky her voice is. She can’t help it, not when the same old inherent terror is rising within her. Louder than anything else, all she can hear is Brittany telling her that she felt like she was being punished, all she recognizes is the pain that she put Brittany through. It’s a pain that she thought she was sparing her from by just from inflicting a small part it, a vaccination against the bigger disappointment Santana would undoubtedly give her in the end.

 

And there must be something in her expression because Brittany looks away from her and stares down at her feet, speaking quickly.

 

“It was stupid of me,” she says softly, breathlessly, like she’s seconds away from more tears, bigger sobs and a worse heartbreak. “I just thought that… you wanted me back and we made so many plans last year and I just… I thought that… I thought that we’d be together by now. I thought we’d be falling asleep in the same bed and watching movies on the couch on Sunday afternoons and… I thought we’d be arguing over rent and groceries and making—making love on the kitchen floor for no reason whatsoever than that we can and…”

 

A sob breaks free from her and Santana’s hand flattens against the wall before her nails curl into it. She’s not sure how much longer she can stand here and listen to this without something inside of her giving up and falling apart.

 

Brittany covers her face with her hand and sobs into it. Santana hates that all she can see in her expression is shame.

 

“I just thought that all the other girls… and the games and the…” she trails off and hiccups into her fingers. “I thought it was a game. I thought you were just making me try to prove myself. I thought I’d _win_ … I thought…”

 

“Brittany, why are you telling me this?” she asks except it sounds like she’s begging.

 

Brittany looks up and sniffs into the back of her hand. She shrugs and Santana watches her as she tries to compose herself, failing before she even tries.

 

“Because you told me to say what I needed to say,” she whimpers. “And I did because I’m sick of being so sad all the time. I’m sick of crying myself to sleep over you…”

 

Santana swallows down everything inherent to her and closes her eyes, steeling herself before she opens them again. It doesn’t do anything and when she looks up, Brittany is still standing there in front of her. Her shoulders are still slumped and her face is still relaxed with quiet resignation. Her cheeks are tracked with tears and Santana knows that there’s nothing she can do to make things better—there never is. She knows that no matter what she says, she’ll always end up saying something wrong in the end.

 

“Britt…” she whispers and she tentatively pushes herself away from the wall, making a small step towards Brittany. It tells her everything she needs to know when Brittany staggers away from her in response. “Brittany, I don’t want to do anything that might end up with me losing you… or hurting you or…”

 

“You’re hurting me now,” Brittany cuts through her and it silences Santana immediately.

 

She folds her hands together and stops moving as Brittany shifts where she stands, uncomfortably lost. She takes in another deep breath and even that sounds like a sob. She eventually stops a moment later, turned away from Santana with her good hand bracing her against the couch.

 

“I don’t understand what happened,” she whispers and for a second, Santana’s not sure if she’s even talking to her. It’s not until she pointedly looks behind her and her hurt blue eyes find Santana that Santana knows these words are meant for her. Her expression makes Santana feel like she’s been hit by a car.

 

“We were going to get married,” Brittany whispers and her sad smile is too much. Santana shakes her head, refusing to listen even as Brittany goes on. “We were going to have babies,” she sighs reverently. “We were going to do all those things—I was sure of it…”

 

A sob hiccups from deep within her and Santana just lets her stare into her eyes as she speaks.

 

“Now I can’t even tell if you love me or not…” she breathes and Santana grits her jaw to stop herself, clenches her fists to keep herself still as Brittany watches her for too many minutes with a look of disappointment unlike Santana’s ever seen her have before. She eventually shakes her head and turns away, heading for her bedroom without another word. She doesn’t look back and Santana doesn’t breathe out until her door closes behind her.

 

That’s when she lets her body give in to what it needs.

 

She sinks to the floor and curls her knees into her chest, rests her chin on her thigh and waits for the tears that refuse to come.

 

//

 

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

 

It’s still raining by the time she finds her way to her bed, the first crackles of thunder rumbling somewhere far away. The sky seems to be getting blacker and blacker but Santana isn’t sure if that’s because the weather is getting worse or because the sun is setting. Shadows flicker around her room and she watches them instead of sleeping because suddenly rest won’t come.

 

She figures that she’s possibly had nine hours sleep in the past two days. It’s not enough, not for all the stuff that’s happened, but her brain seems to forget that as she lies there hopelessly. All it wants to do is rehash what just happened, repeat everything it heard just to make sure that it understood everything and make her feel a million times worse.

 

Her eyes are too wide to sleep, her face too tense and narrow. She doesn’t feel relaxed at all; in fact, she’s never felt more on edge.

 

There’s a part of her that doesn’t think everything’s sunk in yet. There’s a part of her that refuses to believe that this is really happening. Maybe she really is asleep and this is all a dream. Maybe that’s why she can’t sleep. Maybe she’ll wake up soon and it will still be last night. Maybe it’ll still be last week. Hell, she’d take three days ago if she could. At least then she could do something to stop this happening. She could bite the bullet and talk to Brittany like an adult and not without all this anger and confusion.

 

If she’s honest, she’s not sure she understands how it came to this. She’s not sure how it got to the point where she has no idea where she stands with Brittany. She moved into this apartment with Brittany with the intention of being her friend. That’s what Brittany told her they were—friends—so how did it come to this? How is it that she’s laying here replaying all those things that Brittany said to her? How could she have been that _blind_ not to notice?

 

She was trying to be better. She was trying to be the kind of person Brittany deserves. She was trying to be a true friend instead of the same boundary-straddling disappointment she’s always been.  She thought that having a clear label—that being _friends_ —would make things easier. All it seems to have done is make things worse.

 

And the worst thing is that she has no idea how to fix it. She doesn’t even know if she _can_. All she keeps thinking about is Brittany’s face and the resoluteness in her expression. She looked so resigned and that scares Santana. It scares her more than the fact that she knows they’re going to be broken for a while… maybe a long time. It scares her but not as much as losing Brittany for good does.

 

Her head tells her that she’s doing the right thing.

 

Her heart just thuds expectantly, hurting more than it helps.

 

//

 

It’s the crack of thunder and the too-bright flash of lightening that jolts her.

 

Her eyes open too quickly for the rest of her body, shocking her enough that she flinches and buries her face back in the pillow. Her eyes burn and her limbs feel the heaviness that not enough sleep affords. She’s disorientated and confused. She can’t remember falling asleep or even the slow oncoming of rest. She just remembers staring at the shadows on her wall and that’s it.

 

It makes her feel weirdly apprehensive and a little scared. It’s suddenly dark in her room and it’s cold too. It’s too quiet and it unnerves her. This room doesn’t feel like her room and she sinks into the protection of the covers as she tries to reacquaint herself with it because something doesn’t feel right.

 

The first thing she notices is that the sheets are new and clean. They smell kind of funny but they still kind of smell like the same detergent her mother has used her entire life. She leaves her nose buried in them as she explores the rest of her surroundings.

 

The space beside her is cold. It stills feels starchy with the newness of her sheets and she almost wants to roll over into them until they soften up. It’s weird but it’s not unsettling enough. She runs her hands over her body to make sense of the feeling but can’t find a reason why she feels so strange. She’s wearing a t-shirt and boxers. It’s nothing new. It’s what she always wears when she’s too tired to care. She’s even wearing her too-thick bed socks and they’re still both on her feet so that can’t be the problem either.

 

She sighs and turns her face on the pillow. Another crack of thunder echoes around the room and brings her a little further into full consciousness. She tries to remember what she was doing before she went to sleep and that’s when she remembers.

 

She remembers the words. She remembers the expressions. She remembers the tears.

 

And, just like normal, she reaches under her pillow for the same thing that’s been there to comfort her for the past two years…

 

…Except it isn’t there and that’s when Santana realizes the problem.

 

Her stomach drops in an instant.

 

Her eyes open and she watches her hand as it delves underneath the pillow, searching for the same familiar fabric on her fingers. Her chest pants with instant panic and when she doesn’t feel the soft plush against her fingers she tosses her pillow onto the floor as she searches through the darkness.

 

But her fingers never find what they’re searching for and Santana scrambles across the bed, reaching for her lamp. Her hands shake in desperation and her head feels cloudy. She doesn’t know why she’s so worried. She can’t even think and she tries desperately to remember if she put it in the laundry with her other sheets. She can’t even remember where she put her other sheets.

 

She can’t even find the fucking switch for her lamp.

 

She forgets all that with the next flash of lightening and the next crash of thunder. Especially when the bright white flash catches something on Santana’s night table and makes it sparkle.

 

And it’s weird because it’s been almost two years but she can still remember exactly what it looks like. She can still remember exactly how it feels against her fingers, and against someone else’s fingers held in her hands. The blue is too familiar, the sparkle too bright, to be something else. The fear makes her slow and her hands feel like they’re vibrating, shaking but steady, as she searches again for the lamp switch.

 

And when she does find it, and her eyes fall with clarity to what’s sitting there, it feels like her heart drops and all her hope oozes out of her onto the floor. It feels like she’s numb all over, her body preserving and protecting itself from something bigger—something bigger than her, bigger than this apartment. Something so big that the world and her heart can’t even contain the thought of it.

 

She’s almost afraid to touch it.

 

It just sits there, on top of the black book that Brittany handed her the morning before. It looks as familiar as it does completely out of place. Her own hand reaches up to touch the chain around her neck that doesn’t live there anymore. It’s hidden and, as Santana stares at the ring in front of her, she thinks that it should be too.

 

Panic turns into fear which manifests itself as terror. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest that it feels like it’s making the room echo. Her head hurts from the rush of blood around her body. The urge to scream and cry rises within her so quickly that she can barely feel it. The instructions in her brain are so quick that the rest of her body misses them. The scream her soul wants turns out to be the tiniest, pathetic whimper.

 

None of this feels real.

 

There’s a complete disconnect between everything inside of her. Her head wants her to do things but her body does the opposite. She wants to flee and forget everything she sees, but instead her hands reach out for the ring. She stops herself before she can touch it and everything can become real. Instead, she throws back the covers and paces her room pointlessly.

 

Her legs feel cold and she’s not sure if it’s from the weather or from this. She ignores it and turns out of the room, searching for a more tangible sign of what she suspects, a sign that she can talk to and can give her real answers.

 

Brittany’s bedroom door is wide open which is telling enough.

 

Santana doesn’t even knock before she’s crossing the living room to it.

 

“Britt?” she calls around a whimper and it’s too loud but too weak at once. “Brittany—”

 

Her voice trails off when she steps inside and Brittany’s room is empty. Instead, she turns around and heads for the kitchen, checking it and moving on to the bathroom when she finds it empty. They’re _all_ empty and she resists the urge to just collapse there and cry in favor of heading back to Brittany’s room.

 

It almost feels wrong to be inside it without permission, which is the weirdest feeling in itself. She’s never felt wrong being inside Brittany’s bedroom. If anything, Brittany’s bedroom was always the only place where she felt right. It was the only place that she felt like herself. Brittany’s bedroom is where she kissed her best friend for the first time, where she felt the first stirrings that something wasn’t quite what it was supposed to be inside of her. It was where she could act on the feelings she was so afraid of without the threat of her parents or anyone else seeing her. Brittany’s parents never bothered them. They never encroached on their time together. Brittany’s room was their space and, as Santana steps inside this room, this room she’s only been inside of a few times, it hits her.

 

This _isn’t_ Brittany’s room.

 

This _isn’t_ her space.

 

It’s just a room she’s been living in.

 

If at all possible, that makes her panic more. Her breath heaves from her, low and unsteady, and she looks around her, searching for something that might give her a clue. And it’s not until she sees a blur pass her eyes and a large mass of fur moving to hide under the bed, that she sees what she needs to see. Brittany’s laptop screen brightens to life and shows her the last thing she wants to find.

 

Santana steps over to it slowly and regrets not putting on her glasses. She thinks that if she was going to look at something that might change everything then she wants it to be crystal clear. She doesn’t want to leave room for doubt or anymore panic. She doesn’t want to have to wait any longer than she will.

 

But then, when she looks, she wonders if everything would have been better if she’d have just never looked at all.

 

Not when all she sees is webpages with the same thing.

 

_Apartment listings in Williamsburg_

_Apartments for rent in Lower Manhattan_

_Roommate Needed!_

_One bedroom to rent in Queens_

_1 bed close to Prospect Park for rent_

_The NYU Roommate Registry_

 

They just make her gasp and back away, not stopping until stumbling back towards her bedroom so she can get dressed.

 

//

 

She struggles to call Brittany as she pulls her overalls up her legs, the phone tucked into her shoulder as she waits for the line to go through.

 

It’s awkward and she’s panicking but she still fails to be surprised when it goes straight to voicemail. She sighs but she tosses the phone onto her bed as she tugs the straps of her overalls over her shoulders. She’s going to be freaking freezing and she’s going to look like shit walking around Manhattan but it’s the least of her worries. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks about her wearing her Fleetwood Mac shirt and her overalls. She just grabs the nearest warm looking thing she can find and tugs her oldest, grossest cardigan from her dresser and yanks it up over her body.

 

She finds her biggest purse and lugs it onto her bed as she tries to think of what she might need.

 

It turns out to be everything and she just walks around the apartment throwing everything into it. She starts with the bandages Edie gave them, then the painkillers and some spare socks just in case. She shoves in some tissues and a hand towel. Then she grabs for things that don’t even make much sense and grabs granola bars and a random juice box Brittany left in the fridge.

 

She must do ten laps around the apartment, just looking for things that she can put in the bag, before she stops in front of her bedside table and can no longer ignore what is there.

 

It continues to sparkle in the half-light and Santana breathes out uneasily as she reaches out for it.

 

But she still can’t face it so she drops onto the edge of the bed before picking up the book it rests on. It slides a little but is fine once it’s in her lap. Her hand shakes as she reaches to pick it up, full with feelings she never thought she’d feel.

 

And it’s colder than she expected. It shocks her a little and she puts the black book in the bag beside her without even really looking, turning the ring over in her hands instead. She dips the tip of her pointer finger into the ring before pushing it down. It doesn’t look as good against her skin. Brittany’s skin made it look brighter, made it look perfect, made it look—

 

She chokes out a breath before wiping away a non-existent tear and taking it off. She slips it into the pocket of her overalls and searches for her boots, readying herself to face the storm.

 

//

 

She doesn’t know where she’s going.

 

All she knows is that Brittany’s coat and shoes were missing when she looked so that must mean she’s gone somewhere.

 

And beyond all her own selfish reasons, the thing she’s most worried about is Brittany being out in a fucking thunderstorm less six hours after leaving hospital for a broken arm. All she can think about is another phone call from a hospital that won’t have such good news for her the next time.

 

She starts at the grocery store first.

 

The neon lights outside are on and Santana thinks that the streets are too busy until she remembers that it’s almost seven o’clock on New Years’ Eve. She works her way past crowds of people, of families finding their way back home and groups of teenagers laughing and joking as they make their way in the opposite direction towards the subway station. Her boots crunch into the icy snow and she resists the urge to break out into a run, walking as quickly as she can to get inside.

 

It’s not as busy as she thought it would be. There are a few of the usual creeps buying their bottles for their brown paper bags and the usual old lady buying cat food. Santana has to worm her way past a gaggle of pre-teens counting their quarters to get to the counter and is glad when there’s no line for her to get in.

 

“Mr. Broadsky, have you seen Brittany?” she asks before she says anything else.

 

The man just looks at her in confusion. “Miss Lopez, what’s the rush?” he asks in his thick accent. “There’s barely five hours left of this year. Why are you trying to rush them away?”

 

Santana breathes out harshly in frustration. “Mr. Broadsky, please. I need to know if you’ve seen Brittany.”

 

He clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath, gathering up her usual packet of Marlboro Lights, a box of matches and some gum. Like normal, he shakes the box of matches before he puts them down. He rings up the purchase before he wordlessly holds out his hand for payment. Santana panics as she remembers that, of all things, she forgot to pack her wallet but sighs in relief when she reaches into her coat pocket. She hands over the cash, loving herself for being lazy and not taking anything out of her coat earlier. Mr. Broadsky gets her change and she shifts uncomfortably on the spot before he gestures for her to hold out her hand. He grabs it and holds onto it, pouring the coins into the well of her palm before speaking.

 

“I haven’t seen her for a few days,” he says quietly. “Your fancy dinner didn’t work then, huh?”

 

Santana doesn’t give him a response. She just drops the coins to the floor and leaves as quickly as she can.

 

//

 

Brittany’s not at the park or at any of the local diners they usually go to. Santana even catches the bus to the diner they went to last week but she isn’t there either.

 

She’s not at the laundromat. She’s not in any of the coffee shops Santana goes past nor is she in any of the ones Santana goes out of her way to find. Santana even looks in bars and calls Lil, asking her to keep an eye out for Brittany as she searches her pockets for her metrocard.

 

She tries calling Brittany again even though she knows it’ll go straight to voicemail. She doesn’t even leave a message, knowing Brittany won’t listen to it. She figures that Manhattan is the only place to look next. It’s the only place Brittany knows well enough.

 

The subway is packed full of party-goers and people heading to Times Square. Santana wasn’t sure if people from New York actually, really did that but the amount of hipsters with 2014-shaped glasses she sees on the train gives her an answer.

 

She gets off at the stop closest to Brittany’s school library but once she gets inside they won’t let her in without a pass. She spends twenty minutes arguing with the creepy-looking librarian at the counter, asking her if she knows Brittany, if she’s seen her. She even shows her a picture of Brittany on her phone but all the girl does is just stare at it and shrug.

 

By the time the security guard has ejected her from the building and the thunderstorm has reduced to a heavy rain, Santana doesn’t know where else she’s supposed to go. With quickly disappearing hope and steadily increasing panic, she walks as calmly as she can until she finds a subway and heads for one of the last few places she can think of.

 

And while it feels like a long shot, it also feels quite plausible that Brittany would come to Times Square. It was one of the things that they used to talk about when they were together: that one day they would be together in New York.

 

After that first, brave New Years’ kiss, Santana had promised her that next years’ kiss would be better. They’d go to Times Square and they’d be just like every other cliché couple. She thought that they would already be in New York together by that point, that she wouldn’t be in Louisville and Brittany wouldn’t be stuck in Lima, that they would still be together. She was stupidly sure that nothing would go wrong but everything did and Santana spent last New Year’s Eve watching the ball drop on her roommate’s shitty little TV by herself. She has no idea where Brittany was. They hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving. Santana had no idea why but a few weeks later and a phone call from Tina told her everything she needed to know.

 

Brittany probably spent her midnight kiss on Sam Evans.

 

Her New York dream was lost.

 

But now, after all this, after everything that happened today, Santana’s beginning to wonder if that’s true.

 

She never thought they’d get to New York but here they are. They’re a year late but they’re here together. Maybe Brittany would want to go to Times Square to see that she isn’t missing anything special, that—really—Santana isn’t anything special. Maybe she’ll realize that Santana isn’t exactly the biggest catch in the world, maybe all of this… _bullshit_ … will make Brittany see that she’s right. Santana’s not good enough for her after all.

 

Maybe then, she can convince Brittany that she doesn’t need to find somewhere else to stay, that their New York dream can still be theirs, just different. That they can do all the things they wanted to but as friends.

 

She braces herself against a nearby wall when a sudden rush of unknown and unwanted feelings overcomes her. It’s weird and it’s different and it fills her with dread, with strong and stubborn refusal. For the first time since Brittany moved here, her own words fill her with doubt.

 

Because what if Brittany still wants to move out anyway? What if she finds somewhere else— _someone_ else—and leaves the apartment regardless? Just thinking about it makes Santana feel terrified. She can’t imagine what it would be like to have to watch Brittany pack all her stuff and move out. And then what would happen to her? She wouldn’t be able to find another roommate. She wouldn’t _want_ another roommate. She’d have to ask Kurt and Rachel if they have enough room for her at the loft. And even that would be completely different because now Blaine lives there too. What if there’s not enough room and everything gets rough and they decide they don’t want her there again?

 

Their apartment—

 

Living with Brittany—

 

The thought of not living with Brittany makes her feel—

 

It makes her feel lost in every sense of the word and she doesn’t understand why.

 

Yet, trying to convince Brittany of why she should stay there when Santana’s hurt her this badly feels as pointless as wading through a growing crowd of one million to find one person.

 

When she looks up, she can’t move anywhere because the crowds have started to pack the sidewalk. She can barely see anything anymore, everything blocked by a wall of bodies all around her. It makes her feel claustrophobic, makes her feel too aware.

 

She shakes her head before pushing her way through the crowds, running until she can break free and gasp for air.

 

She heads to the subway and gives up, hoping to god that wasn’t her last chance.

 

//

 

It’s not until she arrives in Bushwick that she realizes she’s on the wrong train.

 

She sighs and hits her head against the window before jumping off anyway. There’s no point going back to the apartment and there’s nowhere else she can think that Brittany might be. Maybe she should just give her the time she wanted before, the time that was taken away from her by Santana’s constant searching. Maybe Brittany needs to think too and maybe she can’t do that while she’s in the same room as Santana.

 

Maybe this is a good thing.

 

Her feet take her in a familiar path towards an even more familiar building. She searches in her pocket for her keys, glad that Kurt and Rachel never asked for it back. She can always say she came over under the guise of checking everything was okay, that she was watering Kurt’s plants and making sure nothing had been destroyed by the snow or the storm. She can always tell them she needed someplace to think and know that they wouldn’t care, that they would only ask questions once she was ready.

 

It’s fucking freezing inside and she tosses her purse onto the kitchen table before finding the kettle and putting it on the stove. She makes herself some tea and then drops down into one of the seats, letting her head fall into her hands as the steam drifts up to warm her cheeks.

 

She feels out of control, like there’s a fight happening inside of her that not even she can understand. It feels like instinct, it feels like something in of the core of her warring itself, something unknown. She hates it as much as it makes her feel free. She hates that she has to embrace it, that there’s nothing she can do about it, that she just has to sit here and wait.

 

She tips over her purse; it’s contents half spilling out onto the tabletop, just so she can find her cigarettes and matches.

 

She tosses everything she doesn’t want back inside until she lifts the black book Brittany gave her the morning before and finds her cigarettes half-crushed underneath. She rips open the pack, even though most of the cellophane is half off anyway and shoves one between her lips without preamble. She reaches back inside of her bag for the matches, finding them at the bottom, covered in all the dusty crap that lingers there. She shakes them off and strikes one against the pack before lighting the cigarette. The first pull warms her and relaxes her at once.

 

She reaches behind her to grab one of Kurt’s least favored coffee cups and lets the used match fall into the bottom. She puts it beside her, with the cigarettes and matches lined up next to it, before she closes her eyes and pushes her fingers into the corners of them.

 

She’s tired. She’s more than tired. She’s whatever is beyond exhausted, past desperate and almost lost.

 

Another unsteady breath in and she opens her eyes, letting them fall to the tabletop in front of her.

 

The black book sits in front of her and she tries to remember what Brittany said when she handed it over. She hadn’t been paying attention then; too busy concentrating on the woman in front of her and the fact that she was storming out of the apartment to care what she had in her hands.

 

_Look at it, and if you don’t understand why I’m here after that then I don’t know what else I’m supposed to fucking do._

 

The words make something shiver inside of her and she feels like she should have looked sooner. She would have found out easier, without the anger and the second round of storming out and leaving each other. It would have been softer, maybe. Maybe Brittany wouldn’t be looking for somewhere else to live if Santana hadn’t made her have to scream what she’d already tried to show her.

 

It’s the guilt at still not being good enough that has disposing of her cigarette, her fingers opening the book before she can realize. Her eyes look down a second later; just enough to see the last thing she expects… except that it makes complete sense.

 

Because there, sitting in front of her, mounted onto the first, thick and heavy card pages is a picture of Brittany. She has her back to the camera, her head tilted to the side. She’s in the auditorium at McKinley, facing out over the empty seats of the audience. The picture is dark but it’s cold. It’s black and white and it’s eerie. Brittany’s made the auditorium into a scary space instead of the usual safe space it is. Santana runs her hand over it before turning the page to find the words she’d been expecting.

 

_“Homesick”_

_Fifteen Images of Home by_

_Brittany Susan Pierce_

_Fall 2013 Admission Portfolio_

_Department of Photography and Imaging_

_Tisch School of the Arts_

_New York University_

Santana frowns and narrows her eyes behind her glasses in confusion. She runs her fingers over Brittany’s handwriting, noticing how she writes in plain old black pen and doesn’t put circles or hearts over her dotted letters. It’s clearly Brittany’s handwriting even at the same time that it doesn’t look anything like it. Santana turns over the page, just to find out more.

 

_Assignment: Produce at least 5 images demonstrating different concepts of “home”.  Submit a maximum of 15 images._

Santana’s eyes start to feel brighter as she turns to the next page, not expecting to find a photograph overlooking the whole of Lima. It looks just as miserable as ever and Santana turns the page to the next picture, wondering where this could possibly be going.

 

Next is a picture of Brittany’s house, her mom’s kitchen to be exact. Santana guesses that it’s probably from around Christmas last year. Her mom has her decorations everywhere and there’s a bowl of candy that’s only ever allowed to be there from Halloween until New Years’ Eve. Underneath the picture are some words.

 

_When you’re little, home is your house. It’s the smell of your mom’s cooking at Christmas and the sound of your dad in the garage fixing something. It’s the smokiness of the fire and the sweetness of cinnamon and fresh baked cookies._

Santana reads the words and feels her face start to relax. She turns the page quickly, only to come face to face with a picture of Brittany with her family. Brittany and her sister sit in front of the Christmas tree while her mom and dad sit on the couch and sip coffee. Brittany has Tubbs in her lap and she’s drinking hot chocolate; you can tell by the mountain of marshmallows. They’re not facing the camera again and, somehow, Brittany’s managed to make the picture look like it’s been tinted with the colors of the Christmas lights. It’s bright but it’s warm. Santana feels like she can feel it and a smile quirks at her lips as she turns over the page.

 

The next picture is beautiful. Santana recognizes where it’s taken instantly because she used to go there too. It’s of Lima’s only real dance studio where she, Brittany, Kurt and Rachel all took their ballet classes when they were younger, except the people lined at the bar in this picture aren’t young and they aren’t anyone Santana recognizes. They’re all framed perfectly, modernized and beautiful, and Santana looks at it for a long time before she notices words written underneath.

 

_For a while, I thought home was a place. Somewhere I fit in, somewhere I can stand out and shine._

Santana turns the page only to find a picture she’s never seen before. It’s a picture of all of them from last year’s Nationals. It’s obviously from after they won because their trophy sits in front of them. The Troubletones Cheerios dancers stand at the back while everyone else is at the front. They’re all on the stage in Chicago, Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury on one side with Sue on the other. Rachel and Finn hold the trophy with Artie in the middle of the frame and Santana’s eyes instantly go to where she’s standing. Her breath catches a little because, sure enough, Brittany’s there with her, catching her off guard. And just like that, Santana remembers.

 

She remembers Brittany standing by her camera, setting up the timer. She remembers everyone screaming for her to hurry and get in. She remembers Brittany instantly squeezing in behind her and wrapping her arms around her middle. Hyped from their win, Brittany’s cheek had pressed against hers. Her arms were tight enough that Santana never thought they’d let go. A nose had curled to press into her cheek and now, Santana can finally see Brittany’s content smile, soft and proud, as her blue eyes stare happily at the camera. She can see the happy expression on her own face, the wide smile and the way her own cheek habitually presses back into Brittany’s. Her own hands clutch at Brittany’s around her waist and she looks relaxed. She looks more relaxed than she’s felt since before she can remember.

 

 _A community_ , is written underneath the picture and Santana breathes in.

 

Overwhelmed, she turns the picture, only to feel worse. It’s a day she can remember just as clearly.

 

Because she wasn’t going to go wave Rachel off but Brittany made her. It was their first week of summer break and all Santana wanted to do was sleep in her big bed with Brittany beside her. Brittany was wearing a tank top and her underwear and waking up to find her lying beside her, propped on one elbow with the covers pushed away, was kind of distracting. Santana had blinked slowly until Brittany had smiled fondly and leaned over to kiss her quickly. She’d taken it as an invitation and Brittany had tried to fight her as she tried to prolong the kiss. She’d been sucking kisses into Brittany’s neck when the subject of meeting everyone at the station had come up. And hell if she hadn’t tried harder to get Brittany to give up that idea once she heard it. Her hands wandered but Brittany batted them away, kissed her on the nose before reminding her that they were a family.

 

Little did Santana know that, only a few weeks later, she’d find out how true that really was. First it was Rachel, and then it was Quinn and Puck and Mercedes. They all left and soon it would be Santana’s turn. They _were_ a family and standing on that train platform was the last time they were all together. 

 

 _Or the family we choose…_ is written in block capitals at the bottom of the page. Santana holds her breath, a feeling pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck as she wastes time not turning the page. She wants to know what’s next but she can’t help but be wary of it. She knows deep down inside of her that it’s probably going to change everything.

 

She breathes a sigh of relief when she finds just a page of words, even if they are confusing.

 

 _But as the saying goes…_ she reads and doesn’t think before she turns the page. She just does it, quick and fast, like pulling off a band aid, except it still hurts. It hurts more than she ever thought a few words and a photograph could.

 

 _…Home is where the heart is_ sits proudly written across the page and Santana sucks in a slow breath as she stares at the picture, her own brown eyes staring back at her. The rush of feelings and memories that come to her make her feel dizzy and she pants for breath as her fingers toy with the corner of the picture. Her eyes study it and it’s familiar. She only saw it once, on the small window of Brittany’s camera. She’d asked her to delete it, not wanting people to see a picture of her in her glasses, or her comfy underwear, or with bedhead but, most of all, in her dorky t-shirt with a heart on the front that she’d had since she was thirteen. And Brittany had promised her that she had but here Santana finds it, only she can’t help but feel glad that it still exists.

 

Because it’s kind of funny. She has a scowl on her face but a playful quirk to her otherwise unhappy expression. Her eyes are glassy with fondness and as she looks at the picture, she can remember what she was staring at when it was taken. Cheeky blue eyes, blushed cheeks and a tired body. Brittany had been wearing her Fleetwood Mac t-shirt—the same T-shirt Santana’s wearing at this very moment—and Santana’s hands had been clutched at her thighs to keep her close, even as she told her to quit it.

 

And she can remember Brittany’s words as she’d taken it, the playful but somber _‘I need a picture of you like this so I don’t forget it when you’re in Louisville’_. It had caused Santana to scoff but now the honesty, the fear Brittany had tried to hide behind a teasing smile, is crystal clear. Even four weeks before Santana had left, Brittany was already worrying about the things they’d miss.

 

It makes it even harder when Santana turns the page to escape it only to find a lone picture that makes her feel worse. It’s another one of herself and the worst thing is that it’s from four weeks after the previous one. The sun shines brightly and she sits in the open trunk of her mom’s SUV. Her face is blurred because of the sun but you can see all the boxes sitting behind her, ready to make their way to Louisville. Santana doesn’t remember Brittany taking the picture but then Santana’s face kind of says it all. She looks preoccupied, scared, and thinking back, all Santana really remembers is being worried about Brittany. Brittany, who had come up to her when she was quietly packing boxes into the back of her mom’s trunk and clung to her like she was jetting to the moon and not driving four hours away. She hadn’t said anything but after all those weeks of her being playful and excited for Santana, it was the first time that Santana had seen her look sad. And maybe that’s normal but there was something else, something scarier than jitters and nerves. Brittany had kissed her like she might never get to do it again.

 

No.

 

She had kissed her like it was the only thing that was going to save them.

 

Santana blinks the tears back slowly and turns the page. She prepares herself for another picture but all she finds is words. They don’t make her feel any better.

 

_And if home is where the heart is, then I never left home…_

Santana turns the page to the next picture and a sob breaks free from her throat without any warning. She lets her hands drift up to her eyes and she sobs into her palms, the picture of her empty bedroom burned into her eyelids as she cries.

 

_She left me._

The caption makes the breath gasp from her and ugly, pathetic tears rush down her face as she contemplates the words. Her guilt grows and for long moments, she stares at the picture of her empty bedroom, void of her things and her usual mess, and lets it consume her.

 

She didn’t really look at her room when she left. She didn’t even go back to make sure she had everything. It was one of those things she did so that she might have an excuse to come back. But there wasn’t anything to come back and get and, when Santana finally returned to do her laundry, it didn’t take long for everything to become a mess again. Her clothes were everywhere; she had a pile of DVDs to watch. The only weird thing was her mother’s spare white sheets that looked completely out of place.

 

But, looking at this picture, she can feel what Brittany felt. She can feel the fear and the abandonment. She can imagine Brittany returning to Santana’s room once she got back with her parents from dropping her off. She can imagine her, just as she can see, looking at empty shelves and drawers and being disoriented. She knows she would be if it were the other way around. If Brittany’s room were void of her posters, her random trinkets and her vast array of photo frames, Santana wouldn’t know what to do.

 

It’s a loss that Santana’s never had to feel. She’s never had to watch Brittany pack up her stuff and leave. She can’t imagine it. She doesn’t want to but right now it feels like a possibility.

 

She turns the page, determined to see this through, as much as she wants to close the book and cry until her tears soak down her wrists. The next picture makes her breathe a little steadier when she sees that it’s of Brittany, her face out of focus while everything around her is. She’s in her bedroom and she’s lying on her bed. Santana can feel the sadness and her eyes flick down to the bottom of the page.

 

_And home is what keeps level, keeps everything in perspective and reminds us who we are, keeps us sane._

Santana turns the page only to find a picture of Brittany at school, walking against the crowds in the hallway, with everyone else out of focus while she is. Her face is pale and Santana instantly reaches out to try to smooth out the creases on Brittany’s brow, to ease away the pain in her face. It’s not hard to see the meaning of the two pictures.

 

_Home is what keeps us grounded, reminds of us where we need to be. Home is an anchor._

Santana wipes the tears from her face as she turns to the next page. The picture she finds makes her smile at the same time it makes her want to cry and throw herself out of the window. She tilts the book to get a better look at herself, lying on her mother’s living room floor in her Fleetwood Mac shirt and underwear. Her hair is fanned around her on the carpet, the rest of her littered over the cold hardwood floors. Her face is relaxed, her eyes closed. Her hands are resting over her diaphragm as she listens to a record on her mother’s old beaten-up player. The shadow of a human being looms over her and a slight smile toys at her lips.

 

She doesn’t remember Brittany taking a picture, but she does remember tugging on Brittany’s ankle until she lay with her, resting on her belly as she played with Santana’s hair and kissed her forehead

 

_Home is where we can be happy without restraint, laugh without control. Home is something that makes us smile just thinking about it._

The tears slow and Santana tries her hardest to wipe them all away before she gets to the end. And it’s close. She can feel it. There’s barely three or four pages left in the book. She has more tears than that. She tugs on the edge of her shirt and wipes her face with it, not stopping until it’s dry.

 

And that’s when she turns the page.

 

She has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying, her jaw quivering and aching as she stares down at the next picture.

 

Because it’s a picture of them and she doesn’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t know the words to explain what she and Brittany are. She’s never tried but she can remember how they feel. Because looking at this picture, all bright and soft and beautiful, reminds her. It makes her feel protected and warm. She looks at how Brittany’s nose presses against her ear, at how her hands curled into Santana’s hair, and she feels adored. She feels wanted and needed but she feels terrified and hopeless too. Brittany makes her feel all-consumed to the point that she doesn’t know what happens without her. She feels like she could not possibly exist if Brittany wasn’t here, like they were made for each other. 

 

The realization makes all the air escape from her body.

 

Her fingers stroke over the picture and she rubs her fingers over her cheeks, just to keep the tears at bay.

 

 _Home is a safe place_ , are the words written underneath the picture and Santana breathes in a shaky breath before she turns the page.

 

The breath instantly leaves her in a sob she can’t help but release. Her eyes close because she doesn’t need to look at the picture. She knows it from memory and her hand reaches up to her neck to the place where that picture used to live. But still, it’s been a while since she opened her locket and saw that picture truly. Hanging around her neck, she’d taken it for granted. It’s been a while since Santana’s seen that picture and been reminded of the girl Brittany fell in love with. It’s been such a long time since she’s been reminded of the fact that she gained something from all her losses.

 

It’s exactly what she needs.

 

Her eyes flutter open to look at the picture of herself again and she shakes her head.

 

This girl is the girl Brittany fell in love with. She was brave. She refused to give up. She refused to believe that she wasn’t the person who could give Brittany everything she deserved. Santana is not this girl anymore and she doesn’t know why. That girl would be so ashamed of who she is now. She was happy. She was strong. She was determined. She was willing to do anything to give Brittany everything she deserved. She wanted to make her happy. She wanted to be with her forever.

 

And what has Santana done?

 

Left her? Made her miserable? Pussied out? Given up and gone for the easy option?

 

Santana chokes out another breath and lets her eyes drop to the last caption.

 

 _She is my home_ , it says.

 

Her breath becomes a sob.

 

//

 

She can’t breathe.

 

Everything feels like it’s spinning. Her chest feels tight. Her heart feels like it’s probably beating a thousand times a minute and her hands are shaking. They’re shaking and she’s dizzy. She’s really fucking dizzy. She feels nauseous. She feels like she’s not sure of _anything_ anymore and she pushes back from the table to try and regain some of her control.

 

It doesn’t work and as soon as she tries to take a step her legs feel like jelly and almost fall from underneath her. She forces them to move regardless, until she can reach the wall. She slips downs it until she hits the hardwood floor beneath her. It’s cold but she barely notices. Her hands clutch at her chest as she struggles to breathe.

 

She reaches into her coat without thinking, shaking fingers grasping for something, anything, as she tries to get a grip on herself.

 

She’s glad that she finds her cellphone first. Her knees pull up to her chest as her hands scramble to hit buttons and swipe the screen. Her eyes are kind of blurry and, when she tries to think why, she can’t decide if it’s from the dizziness or the tears or her askew glasses. She finds the number she wants anyway. It’s the only number she can think to call, the only number she knows will have a person who can actually help her on the other end of the line.

 

It rings for more than she wants it to and when the call connects, the silence on the other end unnerves her.

 

A tiny and weak “Kurt?” breaks free from her mouth and she’s glad when she hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

 

“Have you decided to tell me the truth?” he asks softly and what she hates most is that the softness of his voice instantly calms her and she suddenly doesn’t feel so scared.

 

She hiccups out a tiny sob and she hears him make an almost uncontrollable consoling noise across the line.

 

“I fucked up,” she sobs and he doesn’t reply. She sniffs and swallows to gather up the words. It’s hard because her chest is still tight, her heart still beats irrationally and her breathing struggles from her. “I can’t breathe,” she tells him. “I can’t breathe.”

 

“Yes, you can,” he says instantly and it sounds harsh but she knows him. He’s probably just as worried as she is. “Just go slow. Don’t rush it and you’ll be fine.”

 

She listens to him and breathes with him as he coaches her back to a regular rhythm. It’s not until she’s down to pure and simple sniffling down the line to him that he speaks to her properly. She leans her head back against the wall and listens to the line. She can hear the sounds of the beginnings of a New Year’s Eve party and it makes her heart beat just a little faster as she remembers the last New Year’s Eve party Kurt held in Lima. It ended up with Santana on his living room floor, cold and happy because there was a ring on Brittany’s finger and a locket around her neck. Not that they meant anything; the fact that Brittany was laying next to her was the biggest consolation, the thing that made her most happy. She’d been without her for days and it had been the worst thing in the world. She had no idea how bad it would be mere months later. She had no idea that things could be like this and, if she could, she knows she’d go back and just tell herself to cherish all of it.

 

“Talk to me, Santana,” Kurt says and she breaks free from her reverie to listen to his voice.

 

She breathes in slowly, a hopeless sadness seeping into her bones as she remembers and remembers and remembers.

 

“I fucked up,” she says again, a whisper that she’s not even sure if he heard.

 

“That doesn’t tell me much,” he says and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Start from the beginning, sweetie.”

 

And Santana wonders how she can do that. Where the hell is the beginning? Where does all this fucking start? Two days ago? Two weeks ago? The minute she met Brittany? She closes her eyes and shakes her head, deciding to begin with the only thing that she knows Kurt will care about.

 

“I slept with Britt,” she whispers softly, carefully. “I slept with her and then we fought and she left and she broke her arm and when I tried to help we fought again.” When Kurt doesn’t say anything, she goes on. “She wants everything, Kurt. She wants everything but I don’t know if I can do that again.”

 

He sighs though Santana’s not sure she was supposed to hear it. “Why?”

 

“Because I’m not good for her,” Santana instantly shoots back. “I’m not good for her. She’s—she’s—she deserves the best and I dance on a bar almost seven nights a week and I’ve been looking for a job forever and nobody wants to give me one. I mean… I broke up with her, Kurt. It already didn’t work once and it was so hard to be together the first time. There’s more now, you know? There’s more things to break. There’s more stuff to ruin us and make us hate each other. I mean, she’s in college and she’s going to meet people and they’re going to be people I don’t know, you know? They’re going to be really fucking awesome people and I’m a girl who dances on a bar who can’t get a real job. I’m a college dropout who dances on a bar and can’t get a job who hurts her _constantly_. I lash out and do irrational things instead of talking to her and she doesn’t tell me anything anyway.” She pauses and wipes her cheeks. “And, I mean, we live together, right? I can’t just fucking jeopardize that for something that probably won’t work, can I?” A whimper breaks free from her throat and she shakes her head as she finally allows herself to say the things she’s wanted to for so long. “I don’t want to hurt her, Kurt, but I can’t help it. I can’t lose her.”

 

There’s silence on the line for a minute and Santana uses it to cry silently into her hand. Her shoulders shake and her breathing shudders from her. She must look like shit and she wipes her cheeks knowing that Kurt would probably kill her if he saw her.

 

“Sweetie, tell me honestly, what did you expect to come from all this?” he asks gently. “This is exactly what I told you would happen and I honestly don’t know how you didn’t see it coming.” Santana’s eyes flutter open and she stops crying to listen to what Kurt’s saying. “Did you really think that you two could move in together, that you could see each other in such close proximity every single day and just be friends? Did you really think that nothing would happen? Come on, Santana, you’re not that naïve.”

 

Santana doesn’t respond because she’s kind of shocked. She was expecting some sympathy, some advice on what comes next. She was expecting him to tell her what she wanted to hear, not what she _needed_ to hear.

 

“I think you need to come to terms with the fact that perhaps you and Brittany aren’t good for each other,” he goes on when Santana’s spent a whole minute in silence, searching for words. “I mean, sure, she was your first love and your high school girlfriend. That’s great. That’s beautiful and it’ll be a great memory when you’re fifty. But it won’t be if you keep letting it hurt you like this, you know? I think a lot of us have trouble admitting the fact that maybe things won’t last forever, that maybe they’re just high school… We don’t realize that that’s fine. It doesn’t matter if someone we meet when we’re sixteen isn’t our soul mate...”

 

And, if she’s honest, the words Kurt speaks start to scare Santana, purely because they’re so honest. They’re logical and they make sense. It’s all the truth she needs but doesn’t want to hear and she shakes her head softly in growing refusal the more he speaks.

 

“It’s a nice thought but is it realistic?” Kurt carries on, not waiting for an answer. “I mean did you really buy Brittany a ring expecting that you’d marry her one day? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice thought. But, honestly? Did you see you and Brittany making it far enough that you’d get married? Did you see your relationship lasting that long? I mean, Brittany obviously didn’t—She married Sam—but did _you_ honestly think that—”

 

“Just shut up,” Santana spits. Her head shakes frantically from side to side and she straightens her back as anger and pain and worry shoots up her spine. “Just shut up. Just shut up and stop talking about things you don’t know about. You don’t know.”

 

Kurt pauses and Santana’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find something, anything that she can use to calm herself down enough that she doesn’t hang up. The line is quiet enough that she can hear him breathing and she feels her body rush with a million things as she replays his words over and over again in her head. She tries not to get too angry but it feels impossible.

 

“But, did you?” Kurt prompts and all her control flies out of the window.

 

“Of course, I did,” she shouts and her voice only barely breaks. “Why else would I fucking do it? Why else did I spend the next three days after I gave it to her, reassuring her that we would be together _forever_ if I thought it was all just a fucking joke?” She pauses to breathe and finds she can’t see through her tears. “I wanted to marry her. I wanted to fucking marry her because the thought of not spending every fucking day of my life...” Her voice breaks completely. “… _loving_ her… It makes me not want to be here, Kurt.”

 

“Then why did you break up with her, Santana?” Kurt asks around a sigh. “Why would you do that if you wanted to marry her?”

 

“Because I was losing her,” Santana instantly replies. “I left her and she was starting to hate me and I was going to lose her completely if I didn’t do something. I had to make her proud, Kurt. She wanted me to go to Louisville and I wanted to make her proud. All I could fucking think about was that I promised her that I’d be everything she needed me to be and I couldn’t! I couldn’t fucking do it so I fucking broke up with her and it was fucking stupid. I didn’t want to let her down and I didn’t want to lose her.” A sob hiccups from her and she slows down, her own words hitting her squarely in the chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be an official break up. I was going to be at Louisville for a year and then when she graduated I was going to make new plans, you know? I was going to follow her where she needed me to go and everything would be okay. But then she started dating Sam, and then she tried to marry him and then she picked him over me and I thought…” Her face falls as the need to burst into incoherent baby-like tears overwhelms her. “I thought it was over so I decided I’d be her friend. I’d do whatever I could not to lose her because I can’t do that… I can’t. But I could love her and support her in the safest way I know how. And now we live together and I need her to stay. I need her to stay with me in my safe way because I _can’t_ lose her.”

 

She speaks before he can and she goes on quickly, swallowing deeply and staring off into the distance as she contemplates Kurt’s questions, his words. All she can think is that he’s wrong.

 

“But did I really think I’d marry her?” she says softly and bites away the shake in her jaw and the ache in her throat. “Kurt, I still think it. I still think it now because I refuse to believe that we live in a world that would not allow us to have a happy ending.” She shrugs softly and sniffs. “But I don’t even know what a happy ending _is_ anymore.”

 

There’s a silence. Santana wipes her eyes and allows her breathing to slow down. She feels that weird ache of the unknown in her stomach, fear and dread with just the slightest hint of excitement. She’s confused and hurting and Kurt’s being no help whatsoever.

 

But soon Kurt speaks, a deep breath being dragged into his lungs over the line before the words leave his mouth.

 

“Santana, what do you want?”

 

And the words leave her without a thought. She shrugs and sighs them out like they’re the easiest words she’s ever said.

 

“I just want her to come home,” she says and she isn’t prepared for the wave of understanding that suddenly hits her.

 

She gasps and, for a second, her brain’s working so fast that she’s not entirely sure what’s going on. Her mouth forms around words she can’t quite voice and her brain almost shortcircuits.

 

Because now she gets why Brittany showed her the book, except Santana’s sure she never meant for it to mean as much as it does.

 

She’s still Brittany’s _home._ She’s still the safe place. She’s the thing that grounds her and keeps everything in perspective. She’s her anchor. She’s the thing that makes her laugh, makes her smile, makes her happy.

 

And she gets it.

 

She _gets_ it.

 

Home is where the heart is and Brittany never left home.

 

“Oh god,” she chokes out, breaths instantly heaving from her as the true enormity of her misunderstandings catch up to her. She never knew a person could fuck up this much. 

 

A laugh flutters into her ear and she stops and listens as Kurt breathes out softly before speaking. “Exactly,” he whispers. “It’s about time you caught up.”

 

“What?” Santana gasps out in confusion, only for Kurt to laugh gently in her ear again. “I don’t—You just…”

 

“Sweetie, you’re an idiot,” Kurt says carefully, even as she slowly begins to have another break down on the end of the phone. “You’re an idiot and we’ve all just been waiting for you to catch up.” Santana sobs into her hands as Kurt talks to her, giving her the soft consoling hush noises she’d wanted ten minutes ago. “Sweetie, what are you doing? She moved to New York for you.”

 

“You knew?!” Santana chokes out.

 

Kurt laughs. “No, not until yesterday. Not for sure, anyway, but it was kind of obvious.” He pauses and sighs. “But Sam came back to town. Apparently it’s the first time he’s been back since leaving after graduation. He was kind of bad mouthing you… and Britt… saying you’d stolen her from him but… I knew the truth so I worked it all out. He told me that they haven’t been together since before graduation.” Santana listens and sucks the tears off her top lip. “He said the last he heard from her was sometime in the summer, when he asked her to get back together and she refused.”

 

There’s a pause and she shakes her head. She still feels guilty. She still feels scared. Her hands are still shaking and she kind of needs a hug. She wishes Kurt were here.

 

“Santana…” Kurt sighs hopelessly. “Do you really think you can just be friends with her?”

 

Santana shakes her head. “No,” she says softly and the relief she feels from admitting that is enormous.

 

“Do you not realize that it will only make things worse?”

 

She breathes out and nods. “I know,” she gently agrees. “But like… what if… what if something goes wrong? What if I hurt her?”

 

“Santana,” Kurt starts. “I want you to listen to me. It’s been almost six months since Brittany moved to New York. Do you understand that?” Santana nods and makes a noise. “It’s been six months and she has stuck around regardless of whatever shitty things you’ve done. She stuck around when she found out you slept with Quinn and she stuck around when she found out you dance on a bar. When you started looking for jobs, I don’t think she circled the secretary position and the ventriloquist position because she wants you to have a real job regardless of what it is. I think that she did that because she wants you to live your dreams, whatever they may be, and you’re not doing that singing Paula Abdul songs on a bar for sweaty, middle-aged men.” He groans in frustration. “Santana, she encouraged you to date and she watched you bring a girl home. She isn’t leaving. She’s waiting. You’re keeping her waiting and the longer you take, that’s when she’ll leave.”

 

Santana nods and wipes the last of the tears that roll down her cheeks.

 

“And I know that you think that being safe is the best thing,” he goes on. “But it’s not going to make you, or her, happy.”

 

Santana nods. “I know,” she whispers but despite everything, she still feels scared. She brings her knees up tightly to her chest and rests her forehead against them. Kurt just breathes down the line and it soothes her. It soothes her, even as she continues to panic. “But what if I’m already too late?” she asks. “She was looking at apartment ads, Kurt… and I said no to her. I turned her down. I ruined it.”

 

Kurt sighs and she can almost feel him beside her, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her tightly to him. “You’ll figure something out,” he says gently. “You always do.”

 

Santana sits quietly for a few moments longer. She notices that talking to him now is the first time she hasn’t felt completely out of control. And she knows it’s not going to last much longer so she relishes it.

 

“But what do I do _now_?” she whispers when it’s the only thing she can think of.

 

His answer is obvious.

 

“You go home,” he says. “You go home to her.”

 

//

 

She decides to walk back to Williamsburg.

 

It’s cold and she’s tired and the closer she gets, the more noise she can hear, but it’s kind of refreshing.

 

It makes it easier to think and as she keeps her head down and walks the forty minutes back to their apartment, all she does is let the thoughts she never wanted to consider run through her head. It makes it easier to be honest with herself.

 

And she _is_ honest with herself.

 

As she walks down those sidewalks she admits to herself that she’s scared, that she’s angry but, most of all, that she feels guilty for hurting Brittany and she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know how to make this better, or how to stop herself from feeling like she’s ruining everything. She can’t think of anything to fix it, just that she knows that nothing can get better if it goes on like this.

 

Because she was stupid. She sees that now.

 

The idea that she and Brittany can be friends is about as possible as Rachel Berry being quiet or Kurt keeping his nose out of other people’s business. It’s about as possible as Blaine dressing like a normal human being and Santana knows that now. If she’s honest, she’s always known that but she was just scared. She was scared of the only thing that she’s ever been scared of: that everything will go wrong and she’ll lose Brittany and she won’t know how to live her life.

 

But now, as she replays Kurt’s words, she’s sure that she’s never felt further away from Brittany than since Brittany moved in. Being best friends, being roommates, has made her feel further away from Brittany when all she’d wanted was to feel closer. None of it feels right. None of it feels normal. And now Santana thinks that’s probably because that’s not how they’re supposed to live. They’re supposed to be together and they’re not. Not how they should be. They should be waking up together and sharing their lives.

 

They should be Brittany and Santana: insatiable and beautiful and meant to be.

 

Their apartment isn’t just an apartment. It’s their home, it’s the life they were supposed to have and it’s waiting for them. It’s been waiting for them longer than they’ve been waiting for each other.

 

It’s their home and it doesn’t feel right if only one of them is there. It’s their home and it represents everything they’re supposed to be and, if Brittany moves out, Santana can’t stay there. She can’t exist amongst everything she’s longed for. It would kill her.

 

And that’s why, as she comes to a halt outside their building, she doesn’t want to go up. She can’t go home because without Brittany there, it isn’t home. It doesn’t have the warmth or the safety. She’ll sit here, on their front stoop, in the freezing cold, if she has to. She’ll do it because the thought of going up to that apartment and waiting for something that might never come, is the scariest thing she can think of. 

 

She pulls her coat around her as she falls to sit on the third step up. She instantly feels a breeze of cold rush across her. The step is damp and it’s also crunchy from where someone laid some salt. She tugs her collar until it shields her face and tugs her scarf so it might cover her ears.

 

She never does it as well as Brittany.

 

She finds her hat deep in her pocket and tugs it over her head. It makes her feel only the slightest bit better and she breathes out slowly so that a long cloudy stream of vapor slips from between her lips.

 

It’s almost as satisfying as a cigarette.

 

She can hear loud cracks across the sky and they make her stop. People are already setting off fireworks, but when she checks her watch it’s only 11:30.

 

There’s still thirty minutes to go.

 

When she thinks back to this time last year, she never thought that this was where she would be when she was laid there in her dorm, moping. She fully expected to be in the same place, in the same predicament. She had no resolutions other than to not eat herself into a coma and she was fine with that. It was easier than trying to think of other things like being better in her classes, making more friends or finding a new girlfriend. None of those things seemed like they were worth it. She was never going to be good at the whole school thing and there didn’t seem any point in making friends or getting a girlfriend because she always had every intention of leaving and going back to Brittany.

 

But now here she is in New York, with Brittany, and they’re thirty minutes away from the ball dropping in Times Square. It’s all the things she wanted two years ago. It’s all the things she wanted before that but she still hasn’t achieved them and she won’t.

 

She could never make it to Times Square in time and, even if Brittany were there, she’d never be able to find her.

 

She breathes in slowly because she’s never felt more like a failure. She’s never felt more sad and angry.

 

She doesn’t know why she’s always so fucking late for everything. She always takes too long to figure things out and make them happen.

 

She never even tries anymore.

 

She grabs her phone from her pocket without another thought. It’s almost out of battery. There’s maybe enough left for one phone call.

 

She toys with it in her hand, her heart willing her to just make the call while a voice in her head reminds her that she probably won’t pick up anyway. It’s loud and it would be so easy to listen to it but Santana can’t. She can’t because she can’t just give up anymore. She’s done it too many times.

 

She just wants to try, just one last time, because it’s the only thing she thinks she can do to make Brittany stay.

 

Her thumbs stroke over the screen of her phone and she’s making the phone call before she’s ready. She has no idea what to do, no idea what to say, but the phone is already at her ear and she’s waiting, desperately, just to prove wrong the voice in her head that says that it’s useless.

 

And when the line clicks through after only a couple of rings, Santana’s so caught up in proving herself wrong that she doesn’t even realize.

 

Brittany doesn’t say anything and the silent line catches Santana unaware. She vaguely registers that she can’t hear crowds or screaming or Ryan Seacrest. She doesn’t hear fireworks or anything really, just the soft sounds of a too-gentle wind and Brittany’s slow and steady breathing.

 

And she knows that Brittany’s waiting. She knows Brittany has nothing else to say but she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do either. Only one thing—one ridiculous thing—occurs to her to do and it makes her feel like she’s going to cry, even if she feels like it’s the dumbest thing in the world.

 

But it’s the only thing—the only thing—that she can think of and that’s all she has left. So, despite her better judgment, she swallows away the fear and closes her eyes and lets her instinct take control of her.

 

“I give her all my love… that’s all I do…” she sings and she can’t miss the gasp that leaves Brittany’s mouth. She sings on because of it, desperate to hear more. “And if you saw my love…” she sings softly. “You’d love her too… I love her.”

 

When Brittany makes no further sound, Santana opens her eyes and carries on regardless.

 

“She gives me everything…” she sings and her voice is shaky, hoarse from days of rest. She swallows before she goes on, her eyes squeezing tightly shut. “And tenderly… The kiss my lover brings… she brings to me…” She shakes her head as the urge to cry overwhelms her. “…and I love her.”

 

She pauses before she sings the next part because it’s her favorite part and the part that always meant the most when Brittany sang it to her. No matter how hard she shakes her head, a tear still rolls down her cheek at the thought of being able to sing it back.

 

“A love like ours…” she sings as sweetly and as honestly as she can. “Could never die…” She shakes her head for different reasons this time, her eyes opening as she stares out in front of her because she can hear it. The sound of Brittany’s breath slowly leaving her in sobs. It makes her sing harder, makes her want Brittany to hear it more. “As long as I… have you near me.”

 

She goes with her own momentum and sings as hard as she can. “Bright are the stars that shine… dark is the sky…” Her breath leaves her as she sings out the note. “I know this love of mine… will never die… And I love her…”

 

Brittany cries openly, her tiny sobs sounding like music. As her eyes flutter closed again, Santana can imagine her, her lovely face and her beautiful blue eyes. She can see them staring back at her and it just makes her sing harder, makes her want to force Brittany to believe it. This is her last chance.

 

Except all it does is come out softer… because the only person who needs to hear it is Brittany and she can hear her.

 

Santana knows she can hear her.

 

“Bright are the stars that shine…” she whispers and turns her face to the phone, pressing her cheek into it. “Dark is the sky…” A sob breaks free from her and she presses her hand to her chest as her heart beats faster. She doesn’t think she can sing anymore but she knows she has to. She has to finish, even if she’s croaking out the words. “I know this love of mine…” she hiccups and she’s sure she hears Brittany laugh. “Will _never_ die…” she says adamantly, pausing before she finishes the last line. She hears Brittany take in a deep breath and Santana’s eyes flutter closed as she admits the only thing she’s ever really known.

 

“ _And I love her_ …”

 

She hums out the rest of the song and stops when it’s over. Silence washes over them and Santana curls into herself, waiting. She has nothing else to say. There’s nothing else she _can_ say until she’s looking Brittany in the face and making sure that she believes it.

 

She’s glad when Brittany breathes out a shaky breath. It means she’s still listening.

 

“ _Santana_ ,” she sobs out and Santana doesn’t think before she speaks, not when she knows that tone of her voice, not when she knows what it means, not when she’s more than willing to make it stop.

 

“Where are you?” she asks quickly.

 

Brittany breathes out again, sniffs and Santana can tell that she’s thinking. She’s wondering if it’s worth it, if she should tell her. She’s debating if she should give Santana this last chance.

 

It doesn’t take her long.

 

“I’m on the roof,” she whimpers out and at that reveal, Santana runs.

 

Her feet slip on the ice and the salt and she almost drops her bag as she pushes open the front door and runs upstairs. She runs and she runs, her breath panting from her as she walks up floor after floor, tripping over more steps than she’d care to count. And as she gets closer to the top, the ache in her chest makes her remember why she stopped coming up here to smoke. It’s a killer and it makes everything hurt. She practically has to crawl up the last two sets of stairs, getting her breath back as she goes, until she gets to the door that leads out onto the rooftop.

 

And she can hear that same whistle of wind, can feel the draft seeping underneath the door that makes all the windows randomly slam closed all the way down to the second floor. Santana drags her coat back up her arms before she pushes open the door and steps out.

 

Her purse drops to the floor the minute she sees her.

 

The relief doesn’t feel anything but wonderful.

 

All of her worries are instantly superfluous the minute she sees her. Brittany sits under the small tin shelter that overhangs from the next building, dry and completely safe. There’s a few chairs littered underneath it and she sits in the best one, an old leather armchair that’s probably been up here for decades. She curls into it comfortably, illuminated by the tiny Christmas fairy lights that decorate the entire rooftop. She has her coat wrapped around her and Santana can barely see her face from where she wears her hat and scarf. All she can see is her blue eyes and her top lip but she ignores all of that because she’s more interested in the blanket that lies across Brittany’s lap.

 

Because it’s _her_ blanket and the urge to reach out and grab it overwhelms her.

 

She controls herself in favor of looking at Brittany instead.

 

“That’s my blanket,” she whispers.

 

Brittany gives her a look before ignoring the comment completely.

 

“Why did you sing that to me?” she asks softly, even as her fingers toy with the edges of the blanket on her lap. She avoids Santana’s eyes. “Why would you pick that song?”

 

Santana swallows and looks around her, thinking.

 

She shrugs because there’s only one answer. “Because it’s true,” she says and she’s unprepared for how breathless her voice is when she speaks. “It’s true.”

 

Brittany starts to shake her head, her jaw shaking as she quietly begins to cry again. As she turns her face away from Santana, Santana can see the silver tracks of tears on her cheeks, the glassiness of her eyes.

 

“Santana, this isn’t fair,” she whispers. “This isn’t fair… you can’t treat me like this. It’s—It’s not fair, okay? It’s not fair.” She swipes at her cheeks. “I don’t get it, okay? One minute you’re telling me that you can’t be with me because you don’t want to hurt me and then you’re singing that song to me.” She shakes her head again. “You said you don’t want to hurt me but it’s all you’re doing.”

 

“I _don’t_ want to hurt you anymore,” Santana whispers. “I don’t want to do that.”

 

Brittany clenches her jaw and bites back a bigger sob. “Then _what_ are you doing?”

 

Santana shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn’t want to cry because she wants to be the strong, brave girl that Brittany fell in love with. She wants to be honest and she wants to tell Brittany everything she needs to hear.

 

But, as usual, the words never come out how she wants them to.

 

“When I heard about the shooting,” she starts gently after too many minutes of silence. “Kurt had to hold me down.” Brittany narrows her eyes and Santana nods. “I was sleeping after work and, I don’t know why, but I woke up and I found out. Kurt was on the computer because there was no other way for us to know what was happening and Rachel was trying to call everyone and I just freaked out. I freaked out and Kurt had to pin me to the couch.”

 

She shrugs like it was nothing when really it ended up with her sobbing so hard that her throat and her chest and her stomach hurt for _days_. 

 

“Blaine had text Kurt and when I found out where you were—that you were all alone in a fucking _bathroom stall_ —I was so angry because it should never have been that way. _You_ , Brittany Susan Pierce, are not supposed to die that way and, if you were, I should have been with you. I should have been with you and all _I_ could think about was you… _dying_ … alone in that stall… without _me_ and I was so _mad_ at you.”

 

Santana forces herself to smile regardless of the tears that form in her eyes and the blank, crestfallen expression on Brittany’s face.

 

“I was so mad at you for leaving me here… for not even saying goodbye…” she breathes out. “You weren’t even going to be able to say goodbye and that’s _not_ how things are supposed to end for you.” Santana looks at her sternly and the tears sting in her eyes. “I am supposed to be the last thing your eyes ever see… I am supposed to be the last thing that your hands ever feel. I am the last kiss you are _ever_ supposed to have…”

 

She turns away as the tears overwhelm her. Her hands fly up to her face and she lets one, lone sob leave her before she wipes away the tears and turns back around.

 

“I miss things with you I haven’t even had yet,” she shrugs. “I miss _you_ this very second and you’re standing ten feet away from me.”

 

She shakes her head and Brittany just stares at her with disbelieving tears running silently down her cheeks.

 

“I miss my wife I haven’t even married yet and our babies that haven’t even been _born_ ,” Santana chokes out. “I miss waking up every morning in our perfect house and tripping over cats I haven’t even met yet. I miss Sunday afternoons in our huge ass bed reading the paper while our kids read their comics by our feet. I miss—I miss coming home and finding you dancing around our kitchen and washing baby onesies and grass-covered soccer uniforms.” She sucks in a breath as she goes on. “I miss getting up at 4am to go buy diapers or ice cream or cold medicine. I miss dancing at our daughter’s wedding and spoiling our grandchildren.” It throws her when Brittany gets up and moves towards her. “I miss—I miss everyone cheering for us at our 60th wedding anniversary and—and—”

 

“Santana…” Brittany tries.

 

“I miss waking up to you…” she goes on. “I miss holding your hands I miss… I miss everything, Britt… I miss everything.”

 

“Santana…” Brittany tries again but Santana cuts straight through her.

 

“You have never been an if,” Santana tells her, shaking her head and shuffling back. “You have always, always, _always_ been a when. In my mind, there has never been any question that it’ll be me and you forever and I thought you knew that. I thought you knew that when I broke us up because the thought of it not being us… the thought of losing you, the thought of you hating me… It _hurts_ me more than not being with you.” She looks up at Brittany and shakes her head. “I would rather die alone… cold… and frightened, than lose you.” She shrugs. “Because I can’t be happy until I know you are—my happiness depends on you—and I wasn’t making you happy, Brittany. I wasn’t making you happy so I thought I would let you be free to find yourself something that would…”

 

She pauses and Brittany just stares at her, holding the blanket around her like a cloak. She shuffles where she is because she feels on the edge of falling apart, like she’ll cease to exist if she stops.

 

“I wouldn’t have cared about you dating Sam, Britt…” she whispers and looks up until she finds blue eyes. “But you tried to _marry_ him… You tried to agree to spend the rest of your life with him and then you picked him over me and I felt… I felt completely replaceable… like I didn’t matter anymore…” She shakes her head. “I had to make a whole new plan.”

 

Brittany gasps out a sob and Santana has to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing her.

 

“But then you came here and the plan changed again and everything scared me…” She looks away because looking at Brittany would hurt too much. “You came here and I didn’t know what to do. I thought you were with Sam and I was just trying to do what I said… I thought you were happy so I was happy. I didn’t even think that there was a possibility that you had come here for me…” She swallows. “That seemed too good to be true but then here you are, telling me that you did and I got scared because I didn’t think I was good enough. I thought I was… replaceable…”

 

“You’re not—” Brittany starts but Santana shakes her head and cuts her off.

 

“Please let me finish or I never will,” she requests and when Brittany doesn’t talk, she goes on. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath as she looks up. “Without even knowing it, I have gotten everything I ever wanted.”

 

Brittany gives her a look and she shrugs.

 

“I’m here with you, in New York, and I see you every single day,” Santana says and she tries not to lose it when Brittany gives her a tearful smile. “And regardless of everything else, that makes me happy. To see you, every single day, makes me happy and it would only be better if I got to see you smile… and that’s not happening right now and that’s because I’m hurting you.”

 

Brittany’s lips part and Santana stares at her mouth for a moment before looking back up into her eyes for the next thing she says.

 

“I once promised to give you everything you deserved,” Santana says. “And you deserve to be happy…” She shrugs. “And even though it scares me and that I’m terrified that all this will do is make me lose you for the last time, I’ll tell you the truth because you also deserve someone who is brave and fearless.” Brittany breathes out and Santana takes a step closer as a sadness washes over her. “You said you couldn’t tell if I loved you anymore,” she whispers and Brittany lets out a whimper as Santana moves closer and closer. “And I told you that I will always love you the most except… really, what I should have told you…” Santana pauses and shrugs one shoulder as her bottom lip quivers. “…is that I’ll never love anything else.”

 

Brittany chokes on a sob and Santana shrugs.

 

“It’s like you changed the shape of my body,” Santana whispers as Brittany stares at her with wide eyes and a quivering jaw. “No one else fits me but you.”

 

A hand grabs for the sleeve of Santana’s coat and she lets out a shaky breath as Brittany tugs her until their bodies gently press together. When she glances up, Brittany’s eyes are wide with wonder and disbelief. She swallows slowly and Santana reaches up without thinking to wipe away her tears. Brittany snuggles into the touch, her cold cheek warming the second that Santana’s hand meets it.

 

“We’re home, Britt Britt,” she whispers softly. “This is our home.”

 

Brittany nods and Santana’s breath gets caught in her throat when she bends down to press their foreheads together. Her eyes narrow slowly and everything around her gets warmer. She can feel and see everything and Brittany’s good arm wraps tightly around her as they nuzzle into each other. Santana lowers her hand and she breathes Brittany in as her hand reaches into her pocket. She quickly pulls out the cold piece of metal and holds it between them.

 

“I want to marry you, Britt Britt…” she breathes and Brittany just looks down at the ring in gentle disbelief. “Please, don’t take it off again…”

 

Brittany shakes her head and before Santana knows it, a kiss is being pressed to her mouth. Soft little pecks rain down onto her lips until Brittany is breathless and wanting. Her good hand moves up to clutch at the back of Santana’s neck and Santana’s arms worm around her until they’re clutched at the back of her coat.

 

Her eyes are dark blue and dazed when she pulls back. She bites her bottom lip nervously before kissing Santana quickly.

 

“I didn’t,” Brittany whispers almost too quietly to hear. Santana stares at her in confusion, looking between the ring and Brittany’s face for some kind of understanding. Brittany just kisses her cheeks, preoccupied until she smiles and shakes her head. “I couldn’t if I tried,” she says. “Look.”

 

Santana’s eyes drift down and find Brittany’s left hand where it pokes out from beneath her coat and sling. She pushes them both aside until she can find Brittany’s swollen fingers, bare and devoid of any sign of what Brittany’s talking about, as they poke from the end of her cast. She looks but then Brittany lifts her ring finger and Santana sees it… the smallest hint of black against her skin. She grabs it as gently as she can and her heart beats wildly as she finds the small mark, hidden there between her ring and pinky finger.

 

 _SM_ , it says and the words are ripped from Santana as Brittany tilts her head back and kisses her deeply without warning.

 

It’s soft and reassuring. Brittany’s good hand curls into the soft hairs at the back of her neck beneath her scarf so that fingers can scratch at her scalp. She feels small and protected and her arms wrap around Brittany as she kisses her. Brittany kisses her until Santana’s soft and pliant, like jelly in her arms. It’s like a years’ worth of kisses in one and Santana clings to her when she pulls back and smiles, her lips swollen and her eyes glassy.

 

Brittany grins before she speaks.

 

“Sam made me smile but _you_ make me happy, even when you’re making me sad,” she whispers softly. “You make me feel happy and safe and _loved_ just by being you and I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were making me unhappy but it was easier to get mad at you for leaving me than it was to feel guilty that I wanted to ask you to come back…” Brittany’s hand cups her jaw and she looks at her gently. “Being yours makes me happy, Santana. Knowing that I will be able to love you forever makes me happy. And lots of things are going to hurt but that doesn’t mean that stops. You will always make me happy, Santana. You make everything make sense. ”

 

Santana just stares at her, her own left hand reaching to grab Brittany’s. Brittany looks at her in confusion but Santana just leans up to search for her mouth, kissing her messily until they both pull back long moments later, gasping for breath.

 

“You had my initials tattooed on your skin,” is all Santana can dreamily say.

 

Brittany grins and nods slowly, her mouth slipping to kiss Santana’s temple as Santana looks back down at their hands.

 

“When did you do that?” she asks as she runs her thumb over the letters. “It feels like… it feels like it’s been there a while…”

 

Brittany smiles at her, her mouth littering kisses to Santana’s eyebrows before she buries her mouth into Santana’s ear.

 

“December 18th,” she whispers. “Just before I married Sam…”

 

Santana breathes out at the words and turns her head until Brittany’s facing her. Blue eyes look at her playfully and she just searches them for a lie until a kiss is pressed between her eyes.

 

“You will never, ever be replaceable,” Brittany whispers honestly.

 

The words make Santana sigh and she lets Brittany kiss her, lets her breathe her in and touch her while she tries to take it all in. It doesn’t seem real until something occurs to her.

 

She nuzzles into one of Brittany’s kisses before she pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

 

“Why does it only say SM?” she asks and watches Brittany smile widely.

 

It softens soon after and she shrugs carefully, pulling Santana closer until she’s all Santana can see.

 

“Because Lopez won’t always be your last name,” she whispers.

 

Santana stares at her, her mouth dropping open as she contemplates the words. Brittany smiles again, biting her lip before she nudges their noses together. A hand finds her face again and Brittany strokes her hair behind her ear as she watches all the expressions cross her face. It’s only then that she reaches back down and kisses her. It’s soft and full of gasps and sighs and Brittany pulls Santana backwards until they can collapse into the armchair, instantly lost in each other.

 

Unbeknownst to them, somewhere far away in the distance, fireworks begin to go off turning the black and white sky into a sea of color.


	5. Frustrations

Frustrations

 

When the first breath hitches quietly in the back of Brittany’s throat, Santana’s instantly aware that it isn’t from pleasure.

 

She keeps kissing her, if only to see if she can make things better that way, but knows it’s impossible when another breath catches in Brittany’s throat, accompanied by a whimper of discomfort. Their mouths disconnect and Santana wastes time kissing Brittany’s face in order to work out her next move, listening as Brittany pants breathlessly against her neck. Her hands stroke over the muscles in Brittany’s shoulder blades and notice how tense and hard they are beneath her fingers. She presses against them, noticing how Brittany’s breath hitches again, her mouth reaching forward to kiss against Santana’s throat in a way that feels struggled and desperate.

 

“Hey… hey…” Santana whispers, her kisses migrating from Brittany’s forehead down to the bridge of her nose as she pushes her back into the armchair. “You’re hurting.”

 

Brittany shakes her head and tries to kiss her. It makes Santana smile when Brittany catches her bottom lip between her own and sucks it softly. Her hand reaches up to grab Brittany’s cheek, to push her hair back behind her ear, kissing her nose as she pulls back to press her own against it.

 

“You’re hurting,” she whispers again, fond and firm as Brittany looks at her with a furrowed brow. “Here…”

 

Brittany whimpers when Santana climbs off her lap to grab her purse. Santana can’t help but notice the preoccupation in her eyes as she comes back, maneuvering her body so that she’s no longer draped across Brittany’s lap. Instead, she presses her knees into the leather on either side of Brittany’s thighs, smirking at the sight of Brittany’s suddenly alert and dazed expression staring warmly up at her. There’s still a struggle in her face, though, a tension in her muscles like she doesn’t know how to relax.

 

Her good hand reaches to grab at Santana’s thigh, her fingers grasping at the fabric of her overalls. Santana reaches forward to press a pacifying kiss to her forehead, her other hand reaching into the depths of her coat pocket until she finds what she’s looking for.

 

“Don’t be mad, okay?” she whispers as she pulls it out. Brittany’s eyes flutter down to her hands and she’s sure she sees some relief until Brittany’s head falls to relax against the back of the chair. She sighs and Santana leans forward to kiss her just because she can, just because she knows it’ll make things just a tiny bit better. “I don’t like it when you’re hurting…” she whispers in explanation. “You know that…”

 

Something washes over Brittany’s face and it softens like she’s noticed something that she didn’t realize she needed. The hand on Santana’s overalls loosens and Santana feels the gentle touch of her fingers pressing against her thigh and moving upwards.

 

“Thank you,” Brittany whispers and Santana presses their noses together, sighing softly in her own relief. It’s hard not to just keep kissing Brittany until she can’t breathe.

 

“I don’t get why you didn’t want it in the first place,” she whispers, stroking Brittany’s cheeks. “You must be hurting everywhere…”

 

Brittany’s eyes flutter. “Just my back and my legs… and my wrist…” she says before swallowing slowly. “And my elbow a little bit, I guess…”

 

She smiles weakly when Santana purses her lips in worry.

 

“And I didn’t want them because those pills are gonna make me dopey…” she explains as the smile disappears from her face, her expression changing into something that makes Santana’s heartbeat pick up.

 

She swallows as stealthily as she can at the sight of it, of how Brittany’s face is now shadowed with guilt.

 

“I didn’t want to need you anymore than I was going to,” Brittany explains honestly. “I didn’t want to need you at all.”

 

Santana’s face falls and she pulls back, her backside falling to resolutely rest on Brittany’s knees. She looks away from Brittany’s face and instead looks around the rooftop at the lights and the fireworks still going off far in the distance. She runs her lips together and blinks slowly before looking at Brittany realizing that this honesty is good. This honesty is going to make them better. It’s what makes her speak in return.

 

“But I like it when you need me,” she admits in a whisper.

 

The words must force something inside of Brittany, an uncontrollable feeling surging deep inside of her as she reaches for Santana. Her face contorts into a different kind of pain and her hands reach for Santana’s hips. She tugs her forward until their bodies are tight together and it makes Santana gasp because she didn’t realize Brittany still had the strength.

 

Her arms wrap around Brittany’s neck and she looks down at her, gaze thick with the want and desperation that she sees mirrored back in Brittany’s eyes.

 

“I _always_ need you,” Brittany mumbles and whatever the meaning, it still makes Santana shiver.

 

She leans forward to kiss Brittany slowly, verging on indecent. When she pulls back, Brittany’s eyes are cloudy and she looks like she’s been hit with something large and heavy. It makes Santana smirk and she sits back on her knees, popping open the lid of the Vicoprofen before reading the label on the side.

 

“It says you’re only allowed to take one of these every four to six hours…” she mutters as she turns the bottle to the light, her glasses slipping dangerously to the end of her nose. “Doesn’t sound enough to me but, whatever. I’m not a doctor. Open up…”

 

Brittany looks at her in a daze until Santana hovers one of the pills over her mouth. Her eyes cross to stare at it and Santana smiles at her before giggling.

 

“C’mon, open up and I’ll get you a drink,” she says, her own mouth opening as Brittany’s lips part to take the pill.

 

Santana drops it onto her tongue before reaching into her purse beside her. When she finds the juice box, Brittany gives her a sleepy smile as she pierces the straw through the hole and holds it to her lips. She gulps some down and opens her mouth to show Santana the pill has gone without her even asking. Santana smiles and leans forward to kiss her on the forehead before putting the bottle inside Brittany’s coat pocket instead.

 

“These things are gonna turn me into a complete dope,” Brittany repeats, her eyes fluttering. “But if they’re anything like what they gave me yesterday… they’re gonna be awesome.”

 

Santana giggles and kisses her nose, moving down to her cheek before leaning back. Brittany’s head is as far back against the back of the chair as it can be and Santana looks down at her, blushing gently when she finds Brittany watching her. A cold, good hand reaches up to stroke over the swell of her cheek before Brittany pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It makes her blush more and she clutches at the front of Brittany’s coat as her smile turns lesser than soft, barely there and fond. It’s almost like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

 

The fact that Santana leans forward and kisses it away makes perfect sense.

 

“We should go downstairs,” Santana pants against Brittany’s cheeks. “It’s cold and it can’t be good for you to be sitting in this chair. You should be lying down—”

 

“Are you trying to get me into bed?” Brittany mumbles against her lips before kissing her again. It’s deep and wet and Santana lets it go on for too many seconds before pulling back.

 

“Yes,” she says, pulling back when Brittany smirks and leans forward. “But not like that. You need to rest. You need—you need—” Her hands move to Brittany’s shoulders, pushing her back so that she can’t kiss her anymore. “You need a bath and you need comfy PJs and maybe some hot chocolate… Then you need bed.”

 

And when Brittany’s eyes cloud over even more than they were already, Santana knows that she’s right. She smiles and presses one last pacifying kiss to Brittany’s lips before climbing off her and reaching for her bag. When she turns around, Brittany’s still sat down, her eyes following Santana’s every movement. She bites her lip and Santana watches her carefully before tilting her head to the side in question.

 

“Will you help me?” Brittany finally asks.

 

The question makes Santana grin.

 

“Of course.”

 

//

 

It takes them a while to get down all the stairs. Now that Santana can wrap an arm around her to help, she discovers that Brittany’s body is tired and sluggish. It weighs heavy on both of them and she presses a kiss to Brittany’s cheek halfway down, just to perk her up a bit.

 

It’s the least she can do after the day that Brittany’s had. She’s still pumped full of extra-strong painkillers and sedatives that might not completely wear off for another day. She’s barely slept and she probably hurts like a bitch. It makes Santana feel guilty for feeling so tired because Brittany’s probably had less sleep than she has. When they finally reach their front door, Brittany leans heavily against the wall beside it and pants like she’s reached the top of Mount Everest.

 

And just like when they got back from the hospital, Brittany collapses down onto the couch once they’re inside. Her eyes flutter and Santana knows that they don’t have long before Brittany won’t be moving anywhere for at least eight hours. She steps up to her and forces her hands under the shoulders of Brittany’s coat, pushing it down her arms until it can bunch around her hips. She sits on the coffee table and reaches for Brittany’s feet, careful of her twisted ankle as she unfastens the laces on her chucks and pulls them from her feet.

 

“Wait here,” she says once she’s done and Brittany’s closed eyes flutter open when she leans forward to kiss her left eyebrow. “I’m gonna go run you a bath,” she whispers. “I’ll be back in a second.”

 

Brittany nods and Santana kisses her, just to hear her let out a sleepy sigh.

 

On the way, she kicks off her own coat and boots and turns on the heating. The hardwood floors are cold and she breathes in sharply at the feel of them, freezing her toes through her socks. The bathroom is even colder and she goes straight for the hot tap, turning it on until the steam bellows from it before she puts in the plug and pours in the bubbles. She goes to the hall closet and finds Brittany a pile of fluffy clean towels that she leaves on the radiator before sneaking off to her bedroom and finding what she needs.

 

She lights the candles before settling them all over the counter by the sink. It’s stupid but when she steps outside the door and looks back in, bubbles rise from the water and the candles flicker making the room look warm and inviting. She smiles and wanders out to find Brittany, leaning over the back of the couch to stroke over her cheek to wake her back up.

 

She follows willingly, stopping in the hallway when Santana makes her. She looks up at her sleepily before looking inside the bathroom and seeing all the candles. Her shoulders soften and she smiles in thanks, leaning forward to embrace her quickly.

 

“Are you getting in too?” she asks sheepishly but Santana quickly shakes her head.

 

“It’s for you,” she whispers and then proceeds to reach for Brittany’s sling.

 

She takes it off carefully, reversing the instructions that Edie gave them at the hospital before setting it aside. Brittany looks at the bandages on her arm and pouts at the restriction, wincing when it hurts.

 

She stops when Santana gets to work on the buttons of her shirt, watching in the way that Santana had wanted her to when she was dressing her at the hospital. Her eyes are warm and thankful. The fingertips that peek from the edge of her thick bandages of her splint stroke teasingly over Santana’s wrists as she moves lower and lower. Santana moves her hands beneath the shirt and pushes it off her shoulders, helping her untangle it as it gets past her cast. It doesn’t feel as weird as dressing her had. Santana breathes out softly, feeling at ease instead.

 

“This is going to be such a pain in the ass,” Brittany whispers and Santana giggles as she tosses the shirt to the side and reaches for the waistband of Brittany’s sweatpants. It shuts Brittany up instantly and she looks down nervously as Santana pushes them down her legs without pause.

 

Santana feels her gaze and presses as chaste kiss to the bruise on her thigh because of it.

 

“Still hurting?” she asks coolly once she’s tossed Brittany’s socks onto the pile too. Her eyes are level with Brittany’s chin and she kisses it quickly as her hands bunch in the bottom of Brittany’s NYU t-shirt and shift closer.

 

Brittany doesn’t answer and swallows before that barely-there smile returns to her mouth. She looks down at Santana’s lips before glancing up at her eyes. Santana follows them this time and recognizes that look and the uncomfortable desperation in it. She’s seen it a million times before and it’s probably too soon for that now. Brittany’s good hand clutches at her hip as her eyes stare preoccupied at Santana’s mouth.

 

It makes Santana wonder if she even knows that she’s doing any of it and she gives a rough tug to Brittany’s shirt to grab her attention. Blue eyes quickly flick to hers and it tells Santana what she needs to know.

 

“A little…” Brittany says and Santana isn’t sure if she’s lying or not. It’s too hard to see through the blush of guilt that washes over her features.

 

Instead, she tugs at the bottom of Brittany’s t-shirt, lifting it carefully. It’s a struggle in the tiny bathroom, what with one arm completely immobile and the other wrapped in a thick bandage. Brittany giggles when they get caught up and grins at Santana’s concentration.

 

When the t-shirt is tossed onto the pile too, Santana stops and stares at Brittany unabashedly. Brittany is silent as Santana’s eyes admire her naked torso, her hands trailing up Brittany’s side before edging closer to her chest. She bypasses Brittany’s breasts to get to the bruises she’d seen that morning. The tips of her fingers trace around them, trying not to count them before she moves in to wrap her arms around Brittany’s body.

 

She can’t help but press a kiss to the bruise on her collarbone. It’s the biggest and Brittany winces a little before settling into the feel. A sigh leaves her lips and Santana’s fingers rest at Brittany’s bare back, pinky finger slipping beneath the elastic of her underwear without even noticing as her tongue pokes out to soothe it.

 

Brittany moans and fingernails bury into Santana’s hip. It makes her wince and she pulls back after pressing one last kiss against the skin.

 

“Sorry…” she whispers and Brittany shakes her head in a daze, completely missing what Santana’s apologizing for. She feels Brittany’s chin brushing against her cheek, her skin nuzzling into her own, and kisses her quickly before stepping back.

 

The lack of contact clicks her brain back into action and she jolts as all the things she’d forgotten come back to her. “We have to protect your splint,” she says, stepping away further. “Hang on I need to go get some stuff…”

 

Brittany’s mouth opens to stop her but it’s too late, Santana’s already left.

 

//

 

When she comes back, she’s weirdly shocked to find that Brittany’s already managed to get her underwear off.

 

She sits naked on the closed seat of the toilet, broken wrist half held in the air as she looks at it with disdain. Santana stares for a moment but snaps out of it quickly when Brittany speaks.

 

“How many weeks do I have to have this?” she asks. The grumpiness in her voice is cute and petulant.

 

Santana almost manages to forget that she’s naked. “One to three weeks,” she says.

 

She drops the supplies from Edie into the empty sink before turning to her. Brittany frowns at the roll of plastic wrap in her hands.

 

“What?” is all that she can say.

 

Santana smiles. “We can’t get it wet,” she explains, reaching for her arm and wrapping it in the plastic wrap before she can refuse. “You can take it off once we’re done.”

 

“Both of ‘em?” Brittany asks, gesturing to the bandage around her other elbow. 

 

Santana shakes her head as she bites off the plastic wrap and pats it down. “Just this one. I’m going to wash and change the other one. You’re covered in blood.”

 

“Gross,” Brittany whispers and lets Santana guide her until she’s stepping into the bath.

 

She urges Brittany to rest her broken arm against the edge of the tub before she kneels beside it and reaches for the other elbow. Brittany watches her quietly, smiling softly as Santana’s glasses slip down her nose as she peels away the tape. What were once white bandages look grayer now. Santana bunches them in her hands as she gets closer to the dressing. It’s caked in blood and she grabs for the trashcan before tossing everything in it.

 

“It bled a lot when it happened,” Brittany tells her quietly as she reaches for an old washcloth and a serving bowl they stole from Kurt. She fills the bowl with warm clean water as Brittany inspects the stitches. “It was kinda gross. I should have taken a picture to show everyone.”

 

Santana smiles and kneels back beside her, before starting to wipe the dry blood caked to the back of her arm.  It’s tough and the skin is sensitive. Brittany winces every once in a while until her arm is clean and they can see where her skin is sutured and glued together. She grimaces down at it, the flesh red, angry and swollen, before pouting up at Santana.

 

Santana kisses it away without a thought, happy when Brittany gives her a dopey smile.

 

She kisses her again, just because.

 

“Will you wash my hair?” Brittany asks softly. Santana nods and peels off the small band-aid they put on the back of Brittany’s hand when they took out the cannula. Brittany blinks at her and sighs. “And the rest of me?”

 

Santana giggles. “Of course.”

 

Blue eyes become hazy and Santana pushes blonde hair from them as her smile gets wider. Brittany looks stoned as hell.

 

“Awesome,” she whispers, dreamily.

 

Santana just chuckles and nods.

 

//

 

“Are you hungry?” Santana asks as she puts clean bandages where all the others used to be.

 

Brittany’s eyes droop and Santana’s not even sure how she lasted this long.

 

“You made us mac and cheese,” she says sleepily. Santana stops and looks at her gently, feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. She rests her hand on Brittany’s arm and waits for her to finish. “You got fresh bread and chicken nuggets and you made me my favorite dinner but I didn’t come home.”

 

The sadness of Brittany’s truth and the happiness at hearing her say the word ‘home’ form a strange reaction inside of Santana. She stares back at Brittany and doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she just shrugs and watches as Brittany blinks slowly, smile soft and timid.

 

“I’m sorry I did that,” she whispers, her forehead falling forward to lean against Santana’s. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

 

Quickly, Santana shakes her head and kisses her cheek. “No, no, you didn’t… Plus, it doesn’t matter,” she whispers. Her hand cups Brittany’s cheek and she sighs. “You like it better when it’s leftovers, anyway.”

 

Brittany’s smile grows and all Santana can do is trace her thumb over it until it gets bigger.

 

//

 

Brittany’s still sat in the bathroom in a towel twenty minutes later, clean, fresh and moisturized. Santana tidies the room as she brushes her teeth and watches her through the mirror as she works slowly.

 

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” she says eventually only for Brittany to look up at her and frown. “Are you hungry?”

 

Brittany pauses but then shakes her head.

 

Santana steps up to her and wraps an arm around her waist. “Well, is there anything else you want?”

 

Brittany pauses before another silly smile covers her face. “Um. Peppermint hot chocolate,” she giggles. “With marshmallows.”

 

Santana smiles and kisses her bare shoulder. “Okay,” she nods. “You go get your jammies on and get comfy. I’m just going to the store.”

 

//

 

Mr. Broadsky is sat in the exact same place he was when she came in earlier.

 

“Still looking?” he says from over the top of his book. It’s huge and worn and he sets it down as she sidles up to the counter.

 

“Why are you still open?” she asks in disdain. He tries to get her more cigarettes but she waves him off quickly.

 

He rolls his eyes and speaks. “It’s New Year’s Eve… We don’t close.”

 

Santana shrugs and stores away that piece of information.

 

“What do you want?” he asks. “Still looking for your girl?”

 

Santana shakes her head and tries not to smile. “No, no… she’s at home,” she says. “She’s had a rough day and she’s on medication so she’s having a rough New Year’s. She wants peppermint hot chocolate and I know it’s a long shot but I was wondering if you had any.”

 

Mr. Broadsky just smiles at her and points to the back of the store. “Aisle four,” he says. “Marshmallows are at the back.”

 

//

 

When she reaches the apartment, she expects to hear the noise from the TV or Brittany’s laptop or something but the whole apartment is quiet.

 

She sets down her keys and takes off her coat before wandering through to find Brittany.

 

She’s not on the couch and, when Santana pushes open her bedroom door, her drawers are open but she’s not there. It makes her frown and she’d be lying if she said that it didn’t make her panic just a little bit. She moves to the bathroom to see if she’s still there but it’s empty apart from her used towel. Santana walks to the kitchen to expect her to have fallen asleep at the table (because it wouldn’t be the first time) but she’s not there either.

 

Something warms in her chest and Santana slows her steps as she moves towards her own bedroom. Her feet come to a halt when she reaches the door and she pushes it open slowly, cursing that damn squeaky hinge as it whines back at her.

 

But it’s not like it matters. She couldn’t care less about a squeaky door once she sees what’s in her bed. Her body relaxes and she falls into the doorframe, a smile tugging on her lips as she relishes the sight of her.

 

She looks small at the same time she looks like the biggest and best thing in the world. Her body curls into the empty space beside her, a cushion underneath her broken arm to keep it safe. Her clean, dry hair litters Santana’s new pillows and her chest rises and falls under her covers, comfortable and completely relaxed.

 

She looks perfect. She looks like she’s exactly where she should be and Santana doesn’t know why she feels so shocked by Brittany’s choice to be here. It feels like the most obvious one.

 

She kicks off her boots and shoves down her overalls in seconds. The fact that she’s been wearing this shirt for over twenty-four hours doesn’t matter because she needs to be with her. She needs to remember what it feels like to sleep beside her and be fully aware of it. She doesn’t want to wake up hungover to a naked Brittany in her bed tonight; she wants to fall asleep with a onesie-wearing Brittany as her cold feet shock her own.

 

She slips in beside her, forgetting the lights she left on and the drapes she forgot to close. She forgets the peppermint hot chocolate and the extra large bag of marshmallows. She forgets the bag of all Brittany’s favorite things and instead, she lets her body curl around Brittany’s, propping her head up on her hand as she watches her sleep for a while. A smile graces her lips and Brittany stirs when she settles in and wraps an arm around her. Her own warm feet touch Brittany’s cold ones and Brittany breathes in deeply at the sensation before turning slightly to look at her.

 

“You’re back,” she whispers, her hands and fingers grasping for the arm around her waist.

 

Santana gently kisses her cheek. “You’re in my bed,” she says and it’s not an accusation but an observation.

 

Brittany hums and nuzzles into the lips on her cheeks before letting herself be pulled onto her back against Santana. Santana holds her entirely, cradling Brittany’s body with her own, and presses her nose into Brittany’s hair. She relaxes instantly and Santana pulls the covers over them, watching as Brittany’s eyes close again. She thinks she’s asleep and it’s not until Santana’s turned off the lamp and wormed her arm tighter around Brittany’s soft and lovely body that she’s proved wrong.

 

“Our bed,” Brittany whispers, finding Santana’s hands and tangling their fingers together.

 

The words make Santana breathe in sharply, her smile curling at her lips in a way that feels permanent and irremovable. She tugs the covers until they’re right under Brittany’s chin and squeezes her tightly. She kisses her temple and buries her nose into the smell of Brittany’s hair.

 

She smells fresh and clean, soft and gentle, just like normal.

 

“Our bed,” she agrees.

 

For the first time in what feels like forever, it only takes her seconds to fall asleep.

 

//

 

She wakes up to the feel of a warm and comfortable weight settling comfortably against her.

 

It’s kind of confusing for a minute but, when she remembers who it is, she opens her body wider. Her arms and her hips spread further open and she quickly wraps herself back around the familiar body that soon fills the empty spaces. A low hum fills her ears and she smiles as Brittany relaxes completely into her and pulls the covers over them.

 

“Where’d you go?” Santana mumbles as Brittany pulls her arm until it’s around her neck, bicep pressed against her cheek.

 

Brittany presses a kiss against it a second later and, sleepy and calm, Santana wishes that there were no t-shirt there to keep away the feel of Brittany’s mouth.

 

“Pain meds,” Brittany mumbles around an exhausted sigh. “Needed water.”

 

Santana holds her tighter, leaning to stroke her nose against the side of Brittany’s head. “Hurting?” she asks. Brittany nods and it makes her more alert. “You okay?”

 

“Edie was right,” she mumbles and Santana takes a moment to notice how Brittany’s body is even tighter now than it was before they went to sleep. She feels uncomfortable and heavy. Her breathing is struggled and her body is warmer than it should be. “I tried to hold out on taking another one as long as I could except now I’m kinda wishing I’d asked for something stronger.”

 

Santana pouts and nuzzles closer, kissing the back of Brittany’s ear. She lets one eye open slightly and notices that it’s morning but it’s still kind of dark and miserable outside. If she listens, she can hear the sound of the rain still hammering down on the sidewalk. If it weren’t an already obvious choice, she’d say they should stay in all day and watch movies.

 

“Is there more pain or is it like it was last night?” she asks and loves the way Brittany softens just a little bit, just from her whispering and stroking her arm. Brittany pokes her tongue out to moisten her lips before she speaks and Santana can tell that she’s still tired. “Did you sleep yet?”

 

Brittany shakes her head. “Couldn’t,” she says and everything kind of makes sense then. The warmth of her body, the croak in her voice and the way she clutches at Santana are nothing new for a tired Brittany. “I did for a little while but then my back started to hurt again and it’s hard to put weight on my backside because the bruise hurts. I can’t lay on my side like I want to and I want to try lying on my front but I don’t know where I’d put my arms.”

 

Santana presses a kiss to Brittany’s head and then lies there silently as she tries to think. When her only idea comes, she supports Brittany’s arms as she sits them both up in the middle of the bed. Brittany groans but doesn’t argue when Santana jumps up and starts rearranging the pillows. There are too many and Santana sets them in a U-shape before laying back down flat to the mattress.

 

“Turn around and lay on me,” she says and Brittany does, fitting her hips and legs over Santana before pressing their bodies together. Her head rests on the pillow beside Santana’s and her arms automatically reach up to halo around them on the pillow. Santana smiles and pulls pillows under Brittany’s arms to support her. Her eyes flutter at the comfort and Santana can’t help but kiss her nose, just because.

 

“Better?” she asks

 

Brittany’s eyes flutter cutely and Santana loves that she can still wrap her arms around her, that she can stroke up and down Brittany’s back unhindered. She pulls the covers up to Brittany’s hips and presses a reassuring palm against the bottom of Brittany’s spine.

 

“But now you can’t get up,” Brittany says and it makes Santana jump because she thought she’d already fallen asleep.

 

She kisses Brittany’s nose, her cheek, before kissing her gently on the eyelids.

 

“I don’t need to,” she whispers. “Get some sleep.”

 

Brittany’s already breathing as deep and steady as she can.

 

//

 

When Santana wakes up next, it’s on her own.

 

She can’t have been asleep more than a couple of hours. It’s still gross and dark outside and the rain sounds like it’s gotten harder. When she turns her head to the side, Brittany is still in a deep sleep. She doesn’t stir when Santana strokes their noses together, or when she reaches up as best she can to push blond hair from Brittany’s eyes.

 

It makes Santana grin and she watches Brittany quietly for longer than can seem innocent, taking in every inch of Brittany’s face.

 

It’s been a long time since she’s been able to do this… probably too long in fact. She misses it because it’s not really something that happened often. Brittany nearly always wakes up first to be the one doing the watching. She was always there to make sure that the first thing Santana saw was a smile. And, sure, they probably look ridiculous right now with Brittany’s arms splayed awkwardly on the pillows and Santana clutching at her like she’s a life raft, but she doesn’t care. Not when she can be the person to make sure the first thing Brittany sees today is a smile.

 

And it takes a couple more hours of waiting, until it’s probably almost dark again and the rain is hitting the sidewalks so hard that it’s all you can hear, but Santana gets to do that. She gets to watch Brittany’s sleepy eyes flutter open and immediately find hers. She gets to smile at her softly and press their noses together before breathing her in. She gets to whisper a gentle “hi” and wait for Brittany to say the same old “hey” back.

 

She finally gets to do that again and that’s what makes all this real.

 

//

 

She’s not sure how long she watches Brittany doze in her arms.

 

Blue eyes flutter, fighting the urge to fall back to sleep under the feel of Santana’s fingertips stroking the length of her back. Her face is relaxed, her cheek pressed into the pillow in complete content. Her body feels soft and comfortable and brilliantly familiar. It tucks into all of Santana’s curves and quarries and makes her feel together again.

 

She remembers waking up to Brittany just like this two years ago to the day. Two long years ago when she foolishly thought they’d never be apart from each other again. She was full of hope and dreams and thought she knew everything. She took it all for granted back then. She had no idea that she would have to go hundreds of days without holding her, hundreds of days without really hearing her voice. As she ponders that, she feels herself longing for the moments that it’s too late to get back. It’s impossible and, really, they won’t mean anything in the scheme of things. They’ll have dozens of New Year’s Days spent waking up to each other.

 

Missing one doesn’t matter.

 

Not really. Not when she came so close to losing them all.

 

She could have been waking up alone, barely slept, straining to listen to Brittany’s breathing across the apartment just to feel safe. She could be in Louisville. Brittany could be in Ohio or somewhere else entirely. Things could have been a lot worse than they were. Santana’s lucky. She’s got Brittany in her arms and her breath is warm against her cheeks. She has blue eyes fluttering open yet again to look at her, pupils dilating in recognition before they flutter closed again.

 

Santana can’t help but feel that Brittany’s just as relieved as she is.

 

She leans forward to kiss Brittany’s nose and pulls back just in time to see those eyes flutter open again. Brittany still looks exhausted but not as much. Her cheeks are pink and glowing. She shuffles her head closer to Santana’s on the pillow until her nose strokes Santana’s jawline.

       

“How’s the pain?” Santana asks. The feel of Brittany’s nose teamed with the sensation of her eyelashes fluttering against her skin is a little overwhelming after so long. Her hands slide up Brittany’s back to rub at her shoulders.

 

“It’s okay,” Brittany croaks out, clearing her throat after. It focuses Santana’s attention. “Better than it was.”

 

Santana nods and turns her head to find blue eyes. The need to shift her body down the bed is almost subconscious. She does it without realizing until she feels one of Brittany’s hands above them resting atop her head.

 

“Did you sleep okay?” she asks as fingers tangle lazily in her hair. Brittany’s nose presses against hers and she feels Brittany’s answer more than sees it. Her nose strokes softly over Santana’s until her eyes grow heavy and unable to look at anything but Brittany’s sleepy mouth. “Good,” she whispers. “That’s really good.”

 

Brittany nods in agreement as her head tilts to the side. Her lips part and Santana breathes in quickly as she follows, her eyes fluttering closed the minute that warm lips press surely against hers.

 

And everything is different in the weird grey daylight. She feels like Brittany should taste cold but instead she tastes of warmth and comfort. Their mouths press lazily together, parting after long moments that shrink in duration with the more pressure they exert against each other. It’s so soft, so relaxed, that it doesn’t seem plausible that Santana’s body is this soft, this free. Brittany’s hand strokes through her hair, behind her ear, and Santana feels completely weightless.

 

It’s not until Brittany pulls back and blue eyes open to reveal a storm of color behind them that Santana feels her heart rate increase. Brittany’s breath labors steadily from her and Santana barely manages to draw in a gasp before lips are attacking hers again, fast and desperate. Her hands find purchase on Brittany’s hips before releasing their grip at Brittany’s sharp intake of breath. Santana shifts them to the dip of her waist and lets her eyes flutter at the overwhelming reminders of what it is to really kiss her.

 

Because she’d forgotten how Brittany’s lips are smooth but act rough sometimes. Without the cloak of alcohol to numb her senses, she can remember how they capture her own and suck on them with effortlessness. Her tongue swipes steadily over Santana’s bottom lip and Santana opens her mouth without any further encouragement to let it delve inside and explore her. Brittany’s so careful in her actions that Santana can tell she’s trying to remember this too.

 

A hand pries her away from the pillow, sneaking its way between her head and the fabric. It pulls her closer to Brittany’s mouth until they’re kissing deep enough that Santana can feel a tongue at the roof of her mouth. Her hips rock almost uncontrollably upwards and she would feel ashamed but Brittany’s gasping and rocking back.

 

They part abruptly and Brittany pants against her mouth, desperate for breath as fingers curl into her scalp. Santana just stares, too aware of the pulse travelling throughout her body. Brittany looks at her hungrily, lips moist and cheeks flushed. Santana would feel nervous if she didn’t already know what that meant and she surges up at the same time Brittany’s mouth descends again, moaning into her as her own hands begin to wander her body.

 

It’s hard to stop them from trying to touch every inch of her. Brittany rocks steadily against her and Santana’s hand slips from her waist to her hip until finally settling against her ass. She finds purchase there, her fingers trying not to dig into Brittany’s surely sensitive skin as the friction against her body grows. Brittany doesn’t seem to care, not even when Santana grabs harshly when kisses meander to her jaw, sucking lazily downward until Brittany finds the smooth expanse of Santana’s neck.

 

“Fuck,” Santana breathes into the ever-increasing warmth of the room. “We should— _oh_ —we should stop… we should stop… we should…”

 

Her words trail off into a moan as Brittany’s tongue swipes a line up her throat. Her body begins to shake uncontrollably and she’s almost glad that Brittany’s atop her, weighing her down. It anchors her but it’s not enough. Her hand drifts to Brittany’s head, tangling in the back of her hair as she forces Brittany’s mouth to hers. She kisses her hard, lips sucking at Brittany’s until she’s sure they might bruise as her hands migrate back down Brittany’s body, out of control.

 

It’s a little too much too sudden and the sensory overload is overwhelming. Brittany’s mouth kisses at her lips, her tongue exploring and her nose comfortably tucking into her cheek. Her hair litters around them and it’s too bright, too angelic. Her breath gasps from her and she doesn’t know how Brittany has the energy or the ability to do this with all her injuries. Her thighs squeeze tightly at Santana’s and Santana’s so overwhelmed by the forgotten warmth of them that it’s hard to remember that she should be resting.

 

“Santana…” Brittany mumbles into her ear and it’s only then that Santana realizes they’re rocking together, that her hands are gripped at Brittany’s ass and urging closer. Brittany’s breath hitches and it takes too long for Santana to realize that there’s something hidden within the pleasure, a sharpness that she doesn’t like the sound of. The movements of her body don’t feel as smooth and wonderful as they usually do, just struggled and hurt.

 

She pulls back and stops abruptly. She watches as Brittany’s eyes flutter open and witnesses the subconscious relief wash over her face. It mixes with the disappointment and there’s no need to say anything as their gazes catch. Brittany groans before letting her face fall into the pillow beside Santana’s head. Her hands move from Santana’s hair to her own and she scrunches her fingers into it in frustration as she catches her breath.

 

Santana can do little else but pant softly into soft blonde hair and press a kiss into the warm cheek beside her.

 

“How much longer am I gonna be like this?” she asks, muffled by the pillow.

 

Santana tries not to giggle and wraps her arms around Brittany’s back. Her hands drift up and down Brittany’s spine to soothe her and she strokes her nose against Brittany’s temple just because she knows she likes it.

 

“I don’t know,” Santana whispers because it’s true. Brittany might be in a cast for six weeks and have stitches for a few days but Santana doesn’t know how long the aches will last or when the bruises will fade. They’d be naïve to think all of this is going to be easy but that doesn’t really matter. “It’s probably for the best,” she continues. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you and make it worse.”

 

Brittany nuzzles her way into Santana’s neck, her arm curling back around the pillow as her body sinks into Santana’s.

 

“It’d be worth it,” she whispers causing Santana to giggle. A smile forms against her neck and she has to fight not to kiss Brittany again, to tackle her onto her back and pull everything from her, especially when a gentle kiss presses to her throat. “So worth it.”

 

Santana’s head tilts back, letting the kiss linger further up her neck. She would be worried but she can tell that nothing will come it, nothing but Brittany’s happiness and comfort. She knows it’ll be rough for a while. She knows that Brittany will probably be a total brat about it until the day she gets her way but that she’ll do as she’s told.

 

That’s why Santana doesn’t feel bad for teasing her.

 

“The next time we make love,” she whispers lowly. “I’m not gonna stop until we’ve made up for all those months you waited.” Brittany’s head shifts and Santana feels her turn slightly towards her. “I’m going to have you exactly how I want you so you have to get better… just so I can make you ache for different reasons.”

 

A smug smile graces Santana’s face when she hears Brittany’s deep and heavy intake of breath and she stares up at the ceiling proudly. Brittany doesn’t speak and Santana’s sure she has no response. She thinks she’s won until Brittany’s body shifts up, thigh forcing its way between Santana’s bare legs and pressing down strongly. A mouth descends on her quickly, kissing her with teeth and tongue and promise before its pulls away and dark eyes stare down at her.

 

And that’s when Santana learns that Brittany isn’t going to be the only one frustrated.

 

//

 

Santana had kind of forgotten the simple joy of just laying in bed all day with someone.

 

She’d forgotten how warm it is, how small and cramped and close it is sharing a mattress with someone. She’d forgotten what it’s like to wake up from the best kind of sleep and feel the body of someone else pressed against her own.

 

She’d forgotten how not-lonely it feels to hold someone in your arms.

 

She wakes up for what feels like the tenth time that day and realizes that this year is already one million times better than the last one. Brittany’s blond hair litters her face, her nose tucked into the spot just below her ear. She can feel soft, gentle breaths hitting her cheeks and it’s awesome. She smiles without realizing and turns her head, nose stroking over skin until she can run it against Brittany’s.

 

Brittany sighs before a smirk covers her face. She kisses Santana without even waiting and that’s what Santana’s missed too. Kisses with no rhyme or reason are the best kind of kisses.

 

“I forgot this,” Brittany whispers eventually and the melancholy in her words causes Santana to hold her breath and release it slowly.

 

She knows Brittany doesn’t mean she’d forgotten how they kiss, how they feel, what each other’s touch is like. She knows that Brittany isn’t talking about waking up together and falling asleep with each other. Santana knows what Brittany really means because she feels the same. She’d forgotten the feeling of being connected to someone completely, the comfort of being with someone who knows and understands you entirely. She knows that what Brittany really means is that they forgot each other for a while, they forgot how stupid they can be, how scared, how desperate they become and they let themselves get further and further away from each other. They forgot each other and they broke, they broke and they didn’t work but now they’re going to fix it. They’re going to try to fix it.

 

Santana lets one arm wrap tighter around Brittany’s body, clutching it to her own, before the other tangles in her hair. She swallows nervously because for the first time she remembers they’ve already proven once that this can all go wrong. Nothing is for sure. It might not be the same anymore.

 

Her fingers tighten in Brittany’s hair and she pulls her closer because that’s not true. She knows that her feelings for Brittany will always be the same. Together or apart, they grow bigger every single day, but they never change. Sometimes she wonders how she’ll ever contain all of them.

 

That thought is only proved when she pulls Brittany in to press their lips together.

 

“Why didn’t you just ask me to come back?” Santana whispers moments later, her voice low and hushed and ashamed. She still hates herself and remembering how wonderful this is only makes that worse. “Why didn’t you just tell me to shut up and come home to you that day in the choir room? Why did you let me let you go?”

 

Brittany’s face hardens and her good hand reaches up so that her thumb can swipe over the few tears that escape Santana. She brushes them away quickly like she wants to pretend they aren’t there. It takes her ages to answer.

 

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” she finally whispers. A sad smile tugs at her lips and Santana sees the remnants of fear blush at her cheeks. “I thought you were just being nice.”

 

Santana breathes in as more tears threaten to leave her. “That’s the most stupid thing I ever heard,” she says softly, glad when Brittany smiles instead of frowns. “That doesn’t even make any sense. You’re—you’re it. You’re—you’re my girl. You’re everything.”

 

“I know that,” Brittany says and she strokes their noses together, her hand curled comfortably around Santana’s jaw. “I know that now,” she sighs. “But if we really think about it… look at where all this has got us? Do you really think that we’d be in New York if I had asked you to come back to _Lima_? Because I don’t.” Santana looks at her as she speaks. “I would probably be repeating my senior year for a second time because the minute you left was the minute I tried to get the heck out of that place. I worked so hard and we’re in New York, Santana. We’re in _New York_ and we have a home and we’re together and we can do whatever we want to do.” She sighs and runs her thumb over the curve of Santana’s jaw. “So I don’t care. I don’t care what we did or what happened…” She smiles and Santana watches as her eyes glow glassy. “Because we’re in New York and we’re together and now I know that you love me…” Her smile is happy and beautiful and knowing. “You love me and I _know_ that you love me… I’ve _always_ known that you love me… so it was worth it. It was worth it just for that.”

 

“Britt…”

 

She stops when Brittany cuts her off with a kiss. “We’ll get better,” she whispers hurriedly. “If you’re worried and scared, you don’t need to be because we’ll get better. We’ll remember and we’ll work hard and we’ll be together forever.”

 

Santana stares at her and feels her worries drift away just as quickly as they arrived. Her trust for Brittany hardens her bones and cocoons her in safety. “Promise?” she asks.

 

Brittany smiles at her and breathes in. “Things will be hard and at times they’ll really suck,” she says. “We’re gonna do things that make each other mad more than once. Some days are going to be easy and some are probably going to be so hard that we’ll start to hate each other. But I love you and you love me and that’s not going to stop, so when you’re scared, you talk to me and everything will be okay. I promise.”

 

She’s still smiling when she’s done and Santana feels her own mouth curling at the corners. She pulls Brittany down for a kiss and leaves their noses pressed together, breathing in Brittany’s scent for long moments before she kisses her quickly.

 

“You’re the smartest person I know,” she whispers.

 

Brittany’s proud grin presses to her lips.

 

//

 

It’s half dark the next time she wakes up and she honestly can’t remember falling asleep. She’s sure that one minute they were kissing and that’s it. She can’t remember anything but warm comfort and soft skin.

 

And that’s probably why she’s awake now because she doesn’t feel that anymore. Her eyes struggle to open and her arms stretch out to the side. She doesn’t understand how she’s laying on her front and it’s not until she reaches to the edge of the bed and finds a firm hip that things start making sense again.

 

A groan rumbles up her throat and her arms reach up to stretch above her head.

 

“Hey,” Brittany whispers and Santana squints up at her until Brittany reaches over to the nightstand and grabs her glasses. She pushes them onto Santana’s nose and Santana smiles when she can clearly see blue eyes looking back at her. It’s also the first time she realizes how dark it is.

 

“Hi,” she whispers. “What time is it?”

 

Brittany turns to her from where she sits at the edge of the bed. “It’s six o’clock. We slept late.”

 

Santana nods and shuffles across the bed until she can rest her head on Brittany’s knee. “How long have you been awake?”

 

Brittany giggles and strokes her hair. “About ten minutes. I woke up because I needed the bathroom. The minute I rolled off you, you rolled after me…” Santana groans lowly in embarrassment. Brittany pushes the hair away from her face. “It was really cute.”

 

Santana snuggles into her touches and smiles a lazy, sleepy smile. The bed is still warm and Brittany is still nearby and it makes her continue to feel capable of drifting back off.

 

“I’m glad you’re awake though,” Brittany carries on. “I need you to come get me naked.”

 

Santana’s eyes instantly open and she feels the rush of blood that goes to her cheeks and much, much lower.

 

Brittany hums out a giggle. “Well, actually I need you to help me take this onesie off so I can go to the bathroom but it’s nice to know that you’re interested…”

 

Santana’s cheeks stay red as she rolls onto her back and forces herself to sit up. She sits face to face with Brittany and it’s like getting caught in a net. Their eyes flick across each other as they draw together like magnets. Brittany kisses her quickly, inhaling and smiling as soon as they pull away, and Santana thinks that she’ll never be able to get used to this again.

 

“C’mon,” Brittany whispers tugging her by the hand.

 

Santana can do nothing more than follow.

 

//

 

She strips Brittany of her onesie and tries her hardest not to look down. It’s really hard, especially when Brittany stares at her, almost teasing her to just glance. A knowing smirk curls at her lips and when Santana stands back up after helping her untangle the fabric from her feet, she leans forward to kiss the concentration from her brow.

 

“You’re allowed to look, you know?” she tells her amusedly.

 

Santana just shoots her a glare before leaving the room.

 

//

 

She returns to the bathroom a few moments later and finds Brittany brushing her teeth. Her back is on full display and she’s wearing nothing but a small pair of navy blue thermal panties. They cover her ass but not much else and Santana lingers in the doorway to stare for a minute. Brittany’s splint tucks her arm uncomfortably against her body. The bruises that cover her backside and thighs have already turned a miserable shade darker. The bandage around Brittany’s other elbow hangs loose around her arm and, somewhere, at the back of Santana’s cloudy brain, she tries to remember to fix it at some point.

 

“Have you taken another pain pill?” She asks as way of alerting her presence after way too many minutes staring.

 

Brittany barely reacts, too busy shoving her face into the mirror so that she can see her teeth. She shakes her head and Santana can’t help but watch as she pushes up onto her toes to see better. She’s never loved their too-high bathroom mirror more. Her eyes drop to Brittany’s ass and lower, watching as the muscles in her calves flex and tense. She loves her skinny ankles, the backs of her funny knees and how her toes are painted in alternate coats of glittery red and green.

 

There are blue eyes watching her in the mirror when her gaze finally ventures up the rest of Brittany’s body. She’s too cloudy-headed to find it in her to care that she’s been caught.

 

“Perve,” Brittany mutters and Santana still doesn’t bother to look away, not until Brittany spits out what’s in her mouth and spins around. Her eyes drop to the rest of Brittany’s half-naked body. Hickeys still coat her shoulders and her neck. There’s one mere millimeters away from her right nipple and another cloaking Santana’s favorite freckle on her stomach. She swallows as the same heavy feeling she felt the first time she saw Brittany like this settles into her pelvis.

 

She’s fucking perfect.

 

“I brought you some fresh clothes,” she stutters instead of saying the things that whirl around her head.

 

Except Brittany must be able to tell there’s something else as she smirks and steps closer. Her hand reaches for Santana and Santana doesn’t fight it when she spins her around and presses her into the counter. She kisses her desperately, her bare thighs pressing against Santana’s own, familiarly warm and brilliant as her hand drifts up Santana’s shirt. She nips at Santana’s bottom lip and Santana groans brokenly in frustration. Her hands squeeze at Brittany’s waist and the urge to just lift her onto the counter and fuck her here is so overwhelming that it actually makes her feel numb.

 

She bites back into Brittany’s kiss until they’re desperate and panting and almost at the point where there’s no going back on what happens next.

 

It’s too much too soon and one of her hands is down the back of Brittany’s underwear when she eventually realizes that they need to stop. The other is deliciously cupping Brittany’s breast, her thumb stroking gently over a sensitive nipple while her tongue dips into the hollow between Brittany’s collar bones.

 

Brittany’s hand hasn’t moved from her back but she’s warm and sweaty already, moaning deep and brokenly into Santana’s ear and right now that’s better than anything else.

 

It hits Santana right between the thighs and she knows that she has to finish this before her resolve to wait wears out.

 

She kisses her way back up Brittany’s throat before pecking a kiss to her lips and pressing their foreheads together. Brittany surges forward to kiss her again but Santana pulls back, shaking her head quickly to stop her.

 

“No, no more,” she pants. “Not yet.”

 

Brittany pouts. “You suck,” she says breathlessly. “You really suck, you know that?”

 

Santana smirks and is too aware that her own hands haven’t moved. Her hand is still squeezing at Brittany’s ass and her thumb is still stroking gently enough over Brittany’s nipple that her eyes keep fluttering.

 

“I don’t,” she whispers, stroking their noses together. “Because if I did… you wouldn’t be complaining…”

 

She punctuates the words with a quick kiss and is glad to hear Brittany groan when she pulls her hands away and reaches around to find the clothes she doesn’t remember dropping to the floor. 

 

“Tease,” Brittany sighs.

 

Santana smirks and leans back in to kiss her softly this time.

 

“I sure am,” she says. “But I’m a nice tease. You know why?” Brittany shakes her head. “Because after I’ve helped you get washed up and put you in nice clean clothes, I’m gonna shower then I’m going to put on whatever movie you want, make you whatever you want to eat, check your bandages and then I’m gonna spend the rest of the evening snuggling you on the couch.”

 

Brittany looks at her dubiously. Santana smirks.

 

“Does that sound good enough?” she carries on.

 

Brittany looks her up and down. “I don’t know,” she says. “It depends.”

 

“On what?” Santana asks carefully, her own eyes narrowing.

 

Brittany eyes her, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth no matter how serious she’s trying to be. It doesn’t matter; Santana already knows that it’s gonna mean mischief.

 

Brittany rests her one good hand on her hip and closes an eye in feigned thought.

 

“Can I watch you shower?” she asks innocently.

 

Santana doesn’t even have to pause before she rolls her eyes and releases a sigh.

 

“Sure,” she relents quickly. “Why not?”

 

//

 

She learns why not half an hour later when she has to push her own damp, naked body from Brittany’s lap. She doesn’t even know how it happened, just that she stepped from the shower one minute only to have Brittany cupping her breast and sucking at her neck the next.

 

She pushes herself away and retreats to the bedroom to stop herself from doing anything else and is wearing clean underwear and rifling through her drawers for something to wear when Brittany finally comes to find her.

 

“Remind me why we can’t again?” she asks as she collapses back onto the bed. She reaches for her pills and takes one with the glass of water on the nightstand.

 

Santana continues to rifle through the drawers and doesn’t look at her as she speaks. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, nervously, because if she’s honest, she _does_ know why she’s so reluctant to let it happen. She has many reasons and while Brittany is hurt, that’s not why she isn’t jumping her but that’s the easiest reason to admit. “I don’t want to hurt you, Britt. And it’s been less than twenty-four hours since we… ya know?”

 

And that’s where she stops because _she_ doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what they are or what last night was. They’ve had so many times like this, where they profess their feelings and stuff happens between them but they don’t label it. And sure, labeling it isn’t everything because they’re together, but it would be nice. It’d be nice to be sure and to not have to worry about it from the very beginning.

 

“…got back together?” Brittany asks tentatively, getting her answer when Santana stops what she’s doing and lowers her expression. It doesn’t take long for Brittany to be off the bed and behind her, her good arm wrapped around Santana’s waist while her nose buries into the wet hair behind Santana’s ear. It softens her instantly and Brittany uses her smallest, most careful voice when she speaks. Santana loves how Brittany knows her. “I’m yours again, right?’

 

The words fill Santana with relief, panic draining from her muscles as she nods her head and leans back into Brittany’s body. Fear quickly drains away and she feels silly, all of a sudden. She feels ridiculous and stupid because she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop feeling scared about things like this. She’ll never be able to stop questioning everything and acting weird. She’s sure that they’ll have been married twenty years before she’ll believe that Brittany’s her wife.

 

“Then what’s the matter?” Brittany asks gently. Her fingers stroke over Santana’s stomach until Santana reaches up to lock their fingers together across her torso.

 

“I don’t know,” Santana shrugs but a nudge in the ear from Brittany’s nose relaxes her. Her mouth opens to speak before she can even think about what she’s saying. “I just thought that… if I was going to get you back then I’d have to work for it. I thought that I’d have to take you out a few times and make you dinner and spend a while snuggling on the couch before we got down to the dirty, ya know?”

 

Brittany giggles.  “Honey, we already got down to the dirty,” she reminds her, her mouth buried in Santana’s ear so that her words are low and throaty. “And I don’t really care about dinner and all that stuff…” She turns Santana in her arms and smiles at her fondly. “But if that will make you more comfortable… we can do that… You can take me out if you _really_ have to…”

 

Santana smiles, big and bold and happy. “Really?”

 

“Really, really,” Brittany nods, smiling in a way that makes Santana feel loved.

 

Brittany’s arm wraps around her waist and tugs her closer, their cheeks pressing together warmly as Brittany holds her. A soft, content sigh tickles against Santana’s cheek and Brittany’s body curls around her. A nose buries into her hair and breathes in deeply, smelling her and taking her in. It’s warm—too warm—and Santana’s eyes flutter at the feel of all of it. She wraps her own arms around Brittany because she doesn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

 

“I know I sound like I’m desperate to get into your pants,” Brittany starts and her voice is too low and serious for Santana to smile so she just listens instead. “But I don’t need you to try and convince me anymore, okay? I don’t want to have to go through what we went through all over again with the dating and the… confusion. I meant what I said…” she breathes and Santana’s sure that she’s trying not to cry. “I’ve had _all_ of you and I don’t want anything less… so if you have to take me out, take me out, but please don’t withhold anything from me. This isn’t _new_. It isn’t…” Santana clutches her closer as she trails off. “You don’t have to be worried that you’re going to scare me, okay?”

 

Santana nods and holds Brittany tighter. Brittany kisses the side of her head, the curve of her ear before lingering at her cheek. Santana sighs and strokes her fingers over the fabric of Brittany’s shirt, loving how she can feel the warmth underneath against her skin.

 

“Are you hungry?” she finally asks.

 

Brittany doesn’t move away from her, just lets her press their bodies together. “Why?”

 

Santana shrugs and reaches up to brush Brittany’s hair away from her eyes. It’s still damp and drying into subtle waves. Santana pauses to strokes her fingers over it, twisting a lock of it around her finger before watching it fall into a perfect curl.

 

“Because you must be,” she finally says, low and preoccupied. “Can you even remember the last time you ate?” Brittany shakes her head softly and Santana clicks her tongue. “I made all that macaroni cheese,” she says after a while. “I can put it in the oven and heat it up, if you want. The bread might be a little stale but I could make it into garlic bread or something. I could dry my hair and get dressed and then do it. We could snuggle up on the couch and just be lazy.” She shrugs and finally looks at Brittany when Brittany presses their noses together. “I could make you hot chocolate… with marshmallows. “

 

Brittany doesn’t answer her. She just stares at her with soft, glassy eyes and pink cheeks. She studies Santana’s face and, years ago, back when she was scared, this used to be the worst thing for Santana. She always felt like Brittany could see straight through her and know everything. Right now, it’s welcome. She likes that Brittany can see her nerves and her overwhelming happiness.

 

The “we don’t have to if you don’t want to” slips from her mouth almost out of habit.

 

Brittany shakes her head and turns her head to kiss Santana’s hand. She misses and kisses the pulse on her wrist instead. It beats fast and slow at the same time and Brittany leaves her lips there for a second before she speaks.

 

“No, no…” she says. “I want the mac and cheese. I missed your mac and cheese.”

 

Santana’s smile grows slowly and Brittany looks at her in that same knowing way. She lets her hand fall to Brittany’s shoulder and doesn’t stop Brittany when she leans forward to nudge their noses together.

 

“I’m gonna go watch TV,” Brittany says and, when she kisses Santana’s temple before leaving, it feels like any normal day two years ago.

 

Except it’s nothing like two years ago.

 

It’s better.

 

//

 

She forgoes a bra and just pulls on one of her thick plaid shirts over a grey t-shirt. She dries her hair into its natural thick curls before piling it atop her head to keep it out of her way. She doesn’t bother with pants, just pulls on some sleep shorts and some thick wool socks that come to her mid-calf to keep her warm.

 

She grabs Brittany’s sling, her medication and everything else she left behind before almost forgetting her own glasses. She pushes them up her nose and walks out into the living room to find Brittany still trying to put something on the TV.  She barely notices Santana as she walks past to set her things down on the coffee table. She’s too busy trying to open a DVD case and Santana just smiles and leaves her, heading for the kitchen.

 

She gets the pan of mac and cheese from the fridge and puts it into the oven. She checks the bread she bought and it’s a little stale but she knows she has some leftover garlic butter from the last time she made garlic bread. She smothers the bread in it before finding another pan.

 

Bored and hungry and with little else to do for a while, she grabs one of the packs of marshmallows she bought and wanders back into the living room. Brittany’s managed to get the case open and she sits in front of the TV, cross-legged and concentrating on getting the disk from the case.

 

Santana doesn’t speak, just moves to sit on the coffee table behind her. Her feet press against Brittany’s thighs and it catches her attention. Her back straightens and she tilts her head back until it hits Santana’s knees.

 

Santana just takes out a marshmallow and offers it to her. Brittany opens her mouth and chews it slowly, staring up at Santana in silence as Santana eats her own.

 

“You need some help?” she asks and Brittany shakes her head. Santana gives her another marshmallow and she holds it between her teeth before leaning forward and getting back to her task. The stubbornness makes Santana smile and she sets the bag aside and reaches for Brittany’s sling.

 

Brittany groans lowly when Santana reaches forward to put it on her.

 

“You have to wear it,” Santana tells her. “Or you’ll never get better.”

 

“I hate it,” Brittany says, laughing in triumph when the disk pops out into her hands. “Take that, bitch,” she mutters.

 

“So charming,” Santana teases and waits for Brittany to put the disk in the player and grab the remote.

 

It’s then that she pauses and Santana waits knowingly, watching her as she looks around, trying to figure out how to get up without the support of her hands. She looks completely lost for a while and it upsets Santana to see her so confused until Brittany turns around and looks at her helplessly.

 

“C’mon,” Santana instantly says, slipping her hands underneath Brittany’s shoulders and holding her tightly. “On three,” she says. “One, two… three…”

 

Brittany stands with a groan and a wince and lets Santana inspect her once they’re both on their feet. She’s fine but Santana gives her a look that Brittany quickly shies away from. She steps away from Santana and curls into the couch. There are no arguments when Santana quickly runs to Brittany’s room and grabs the pillows from her bed. She props Brittany’s arm up on them and puts them around her back.

 

“Come snuggle,” Brittany asks quietly. Santana looks at her and it kind of kills her that she has to say no. She shakes her head but Brittany doesn’t look too disappointed when she leans down to kiss her on the nose.

 

“Soon,” she whispers and Brittany smiles.

 

//

 

It’s another twenty minutes before all the food is cooked.

 

Brittany’s already engrossed in _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ and Santana settles the pan of mac and cheese and the garlic bread on the coffee table before sitting down on the edge of the couch beside her. She serves out two bowls before offering one to Brittany.

 

Brittany just looks at her for a moment before that lost look returns to her face. She swallows and Santana just shrugs her shoulders before tapping her on the side so that she gets up and stands beside the couch. She serves a little extra into Brittany’s bowl before pulling the table between the couches closer. She arranges the pillows before lying down and Brittany doesn’t need any further instruction. She just walks around the couch and grabs Santana’s blanket, pulling it with her as she climbs into the space between Santana’s legs.

 

Her head instantly goes to rest on Santana’s chest and she doesn’t argue when she’s poked and prodded and made comfortable. Santana takes off her sling and tosses it to the floor before pulling the blanket up around her and grabbing Brittany’s bowl.

 

And it’s nice. She slowly feeds Brittany her food and feels all the worries of the hospital drift away. She thinks that if she gets to spend two, four, six weeks taking care of Brittany she doesn’t care about any of it. After seeing Brittany in so much pain she’s glad that she can finally do something to help make Brittany feel better. She doesn’t feel useless. She feels like everything Brittany needs as Brittany lies lazily across her. Her body doesn’t feel tense with pain just soft, slow and relaxed. Her eyes flutter and Santana kisses the side of her head and sneaks mouthfuls from her bowl when Brittany slowly feeds herself some bread.

 

“Better?” she asks when Brittany’s almost finished. Brittany nods and pulls the blanket up higher around her. There’s a look in her eyes that tells Santana that she’s not going to be awake much longer and sure enough, she shakes her head to more food a few moments later and shifts herself on her side.

 

She rests on her better arm and Santana rearranges the pillows again so that she’s safe. She quickly eats some of her own food and before Santana’s even set down her bowl, Brittany is fast asleep against her. Her broken arm lays haphazardly tucked against her body and Santana turns until she can curl into her. Her hand combs through Brittany’s hair until steady breaths become low and shallow with sleep. With gently parted lips and a heavy body, Santana knows that she’s comfortable, that she’s not hurting.

 

Still, she kisses Brittany’s forehead anyway.

 

She knows it’ll help.

 

//

 

It’s dark and she can hear a gentle pouring of rain from outside. The movie finished a while ago but she’s too busy concentrating of the feel of Brittany sandwiched between her body and the back of the couch to care. Her hands continue to stroke over Brittany’s wavy curls and to her neck where they shamelessly venture below the back of her collar to feel the softness of her skin.

 

Brittany’s arm has somehow ventured to rest against her chest, her bandaged arm running across it so that her barely exposed fingers rest against a boob. Santana protectively lingers her own hand nearby, knowing that it’ll hurt if Brittany knocks her wrist against anything.

 

Brittany’s fingers are swollen but her ring sits proudly on her finger. Her skin puffs out from beneath the metal band and it looks like it should hurt except when Santana strokes her fingers over it, Brittany doesn’t flinch. She just lets out and airy sigh and snuggles close enough that it almost feels impossible, like they’re defying the laws of physics. Santana can feel Brittany against every inch of one side of her body.

 

The ring glitters in the half-light of the room and Santana spends her time alternating between staring at the pretty patterns it makes and the expression on Brittany’s sleeping face. She strokes her fingers over Brittany’s barely exposed knuckles and doesn’t stop until the long fingers that extend from them begin to flex.

 

She waits for Brittany to wake but when she does it’s not what she expects. It’s not a complete stir because Brittany’s eyes refuse to open. Her body twists and bends slightly but nothing else. Her head seems to push in two directions at once as it leans back into the gentle scratches Santana exerts against her scalp while snuggling more comfortably into Santana’s shoulder. A low, appreciative moan rumbles up from her throat and the pinky of her swollen hand twitches for the fingers that stroke nearby. Such a request is not something Santana could ever refuse and she leans sideways to kiss Brittany’s forehead as she offers up her pinky for Brittany to link with her own.

 

“You okay?” she whispers and smiles when Brittany is only able to shift up and bury her face in Santana’s neck. Warm tufts of air release against Santana’s skin and her hand curls around the base of Brittany’s skull. Warm, bare legs stroke against her own in a way that’s entirely too distracting as Brittany curls around her. Their fingers release sooner than expected but Santana doesn’t mind as she’s able to reach down and hold onto Brittany’s thigh. Brittany tucks her broken arm back against her body before half rolling onto Santana.

 

“Be careful,” Santana whispers, even as her hand strokes up and down the thigh that Brittany now has firmly wedged between her own. Her hand drifts back beneath Brittany’s collar, pushing at the fabric until she can reach further underneath when another appreciative moan vibrates against her skin. “I want you as good as new.”

 

Brittany hums again and Santana takes advantage of having her other arm free to slip it lower on Brittany’s body. It withdraws from her collar and flattens against the small of Brittany’s back. She listens to Brittany’s sleepy breathing, waiting for the hitch in it when her fingers slip beneath loose fabric and to the warm skin underneath.

 

Except the hitch is actually a groan. It leaves Brittany slowly and Santana’s eyes open and her mouth drops mischievously as she traces patterns across Brittany’s skin. A smile forms against her neck and Santana listens as Brittany groans out a whimper of laughter.

 

“You’re mean,” Brittany finally mumbles and her voice is thick and dark and tired. While its roughness might scare some people away, it just makes Santana hold her closer.

 

She turns her face to kiss the side of Brittany’s head and lets her fingers press more firmly into her skin. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks, knowingly.

 

“No,” Brittany mumbles. Her nose nuzzles into Santana’s neck before she stills and sighs. “I like it,” she breathes. “Feels good. Different.”

 

“Different?” Santana asks, her brow narrowing. “Different how?”

 

Brittany breathes in and Santana can tell that she’s getting sleepy again. She knows that she should let her rest but she kind of doesn’t want to. Her index finger traces the line of Brittany’s spine, knowing it will catch her attention.

 

“Just different,” Brittany says as her back arches slightly. “Good different. Like my whole body can feel it and not just that one part. Like all my nerve endings can tell that it’s you touching me. It’s nice. It feels all electric and magical.”

 

“Did you take another pain pill?” Santana teases. “You sound all dopey.”

 

“Fuck you,” Brittany says and Santana isn’t ready for Brittany’s cursing, or for how she pulls back and shifts upwards. They suddenly become face to face and their noses stroke together because of their proximity. Santana shuts up and stares into sleepy blue eyes, waiting for what comes next. All she can really register is Brittany’s nearness and how her thigh has shifted enough that there’s just the right amount of pressure. Brittany must be able to tell because she smiles knowingly. “I was trying to be cute.”

 

Santana stares at her for a few minutes before deciding what to say. “You are cute,” she says lowly. “So cute. But, you know, I think New York might have made you a little bit mean, sweary pants.”

 

Brittany’s mouth falls into a lazy smile. “Do you hate it?” she asks.

 

The question makes Santana laugh and she shakes her head as she chuckles out a “no”.

 

Her hands finds its way up Brittany’s back, fabric riding up until she can find all the skin she couldn’t reach before. Her fingers stroke softly, habitually, and Brittany’s eyes flutter as Santana speaks.

 

“It’s kinda hot, actually,” she says, loving the way Brittany’s mouth quirks up at the corners. “You should use your meanness more often.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Mhmm,” Santana nods. Her hand creeps up Brittany’s bare thigh to the edge of her underwear and stops. “I think you should use it on that homeless homophobic guy who’s always outside of the bar. Give him a piece of your mind.”

 

Brittany giggles. “Maybe I will.”

 

“You should,” Santana mumbles as one finger hooks beneath Brittany’s panty line and strokes underneath.

 

Brittany’s eyes instantly dart down to look at Santana’s lips before darting back up to her eyes. “Why? What are you gonna do about it?”

 

Another finger pushes beneath her panty line and Santana watches Brittany when her fingers begin slowly tracing the edges. This time, when her eyes dart down to Santana’s mouth, they don’t look away. Her hips noticeably shift and before Santana can anticipate it, Brittany’s mouth is descending onto her own.

 

Lips suck on her bottom lip and it wipes the smile from Santana’s face. Brittany’s mouth is deliciously wet and sleep-warm. Weirdly, Santana can still taste the sugar of the marshmallows and, somewhere deeper, Brittany’s toothpaste. Her hand crawls upwards until it can grab at Brittany’s neck, keeping her in place as she tries to taste more. Her tongue delves into Brittany’s mouth, relentless and not at all charming. It doesn’t seem to bother Brittany; she sucks the tongue into her mouth and moans from the back of her throat. The thigh between Santana’s shifts even further upwards and more of Santana’s fingers disappear beneath Brittany’s panty line to guide the pressure pressed deliciously against her.

 

Santana finds herself biting into the kiss, her teeth nipping against Brittany’s lips and chin in the moments when Brittany barely pulls back to pant into her mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that Santana really missed. It’s a kiss that starts for the sake of kissing. It’s the kind of kiss that they would have before anything else happened between them. They usually happened at parties or during after school sessions in Brittany’s room. It’s the kind of kiss they used to share when they could hear Brittany’s sister moving around in the hallway outside her old bedroom… except they’re not scared of getting caught or of somebody knocking on the door anymore. It’s a kiss that shows no sign of an ending and promises nothing more.

 

That’s why Santana doesn’t whine when Brittany removes the thigh from between her legs—at least not out loud—she just keeps kissing her and makes sure that her hand remains on Brittany’s ass when that thigh throws itself across her body to straddle her.

 

Brittany forces herself to sit up and Santana follows, kissing her even when Brittany struggles to return it. She guides Brittany’s mouth with the hand on the back of Brittany’s neck and lets her kisses drift to her jaw when Brittany can barely breathe.

 

“I hate not being able to hold you,” Brittany gasps into her mouth. The fingers of her good hand reach up to stroke over the features of Santana’s face and it makes Santana melt, just having Brittany’s fingertips fluttering along her cheekbones and over her eyebrows. “I hate it.”

 

“You _can_ hold me,” Santana tries to console her, kissing Brittany’s thumb as it brushes over her top lip. Her voice is heavy and labored to match her breathing.

 

She lets Brittany’s thumb explore her face as she tries to calm herself down. Blue eyes stare at her and Santana feels a million things from sadness to lust. She pulls Brittany closer and, when it forces their bodies to be flush together, all she feels is relief.

 

“I can’t…” Brittany says and her voice is a whimper, a hiccup almost. She presses their noses together and sighs woefully. “Not how I want to, anyway.”

 

Santana’s sadness overcomes her lust at the sight of Brittany’s expression. She looks lost and a little scared. Her jaw quivers and Santana removes her hands from Brittany’s body to cup her cheeks. She brings Brittany towards her and, for a minute, everything is all hands and faces and closeness. Brittany looks at her softly and all it takes is a kiss to the nose to free the words that Brittany’s reluctant to speak.

 

“I lost you and I didn’t think I was going to get you back but now I have,” she whispers hurriedly. “And there’s just something about being like this with you again that’s just really making me want to hold you and perhaps never let you go ever again?” She laughs at her own words. Santana just presses their noses together and watches her until the laugh stops and her smile falls. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m being silly.”

 

Santana shakes her head. “No,” she breathes. “No you’re not… I want to do that too.”

 

Her words allow Brittany’s furrowed brow to relax. Santana kisses her but pulls away a few moments later. It makes Brittany relax and she looks confused when Santana taps her thigh to get her to stand up. She stands beside the couch with the blanket wrapped around her as Santana moves around the living room. She turns off the DVD and turns the TV onto some show that she doesn’t even pay attention to. She puts the remote on the coffee table and rearranges the pillows again. Brittany doesn’t put up a fight when Santana guides her to lie back on the couch. She just narrows her gaze in confusions and stares up at her, a sigh of relief leaving her slowly when Santana straddles her hips and pulls the blanket over them.

 

She presses their bodies together and loves that Brittany just breathes out distractedly and raises her broken arm to let Santana press against her. She rests it against Santana’s back and lets her good arm curl around Santana’s waist. The blanket falls but Santana pulls it back up, her hands curling beneath Brittany’s neck as Brittany’s arms situate themselves comfortably around her body.

 

“Better?” Santana whispers in her ear, even as Brittany’s legs shift against hers, forcing them between strong thighs as Brittany locks her ankles at the back of Santana’s knees. Brittany nods in approval and before Santana can say anything else, Brittany’s kissing her again.

 

A tongue instantly invades her mouth and Santana moans around the smile that instantly graces her lips. Her hips push down until Brittany groans and she rests on one elbow as her hand buries itself in Brittany’s messy hair. The other instantly returns to its place on Brittany’s ass, fingers slipping back beneath her panty line without a thought.

 

A hand grabs frantically at the fabric of her shirt and Santana keeps kissing Brittany as she fights her way to get beneath the cotton. Brittany’s breath pants from her harshly and Santana likes it. Brittany has never been this way with her, so brazenly and obviously desperate. Santana can feel the quivering threat of her control ready to be lost as she touches her skin. Her softest touches make Brittany shake and Santana pulls back because she wants to do things right this time.

 

Brittany grunts in annoyance but blue eyes flutter and look up at her regardless.

 

Santana feels her own eyes brighten at the sight of them and she cups Brittany’s face, stroking her cheek for endless moments of admiration before she speaks.

 

“Can I take you out for dinner?” she asks quietly.

 

Brittany swallows and looks at her slowly, like she wants to say no and skip straight to some other stuff that will undoubtedly be more fun. Still, this is what she wants. She wants to stare at Brittany over the flickering slow burn of a candle. She wants to watch Brittany order shrimp and eat too much of the bread. She wants to see her eyes soften from excitement to warm and comfortable contentment. She misses taking Brittany’s hand across the tabletop and watching how Brittany would always rest her head in her other hand before tilting her head and staring at her like she was the best thing in the world.

 

And Brittany must be able to see that because, instead of ignoring Santana and surging up to kiss her, she just swallows slowly and blinks to clear her vision.

 

“When?” she asks.

 

Santana bites her lip and thinks. She swoops down to kiss Brittany’s nose before speaking. “Tomorrow?” she says before shaking her head. “No—Friday. Tomorrow we’re gonna move all your stuff into my room.”

 

Brittany’s eyebrows jump halfway up her forehead and her parted, breathless lips curl into a smile.

 

“Really?”

 

Santana nods and kisses her again. “Yup,” she says and untangles herself from Brittany’s body so she can jump to her feet. “So we better get to bed because we’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

 

She hears Brittany’s groan all the way from the kitchen.

 

//

 

Brittany’s already in bed and giving her the stink eye by the time she gets to their bedroom.

 

Santana isn’t shocked; she expected it from the minute she stepped out of the kitchen and found the living room empty. She tidied away the leftover food and cleaned the kitchen. She purposefully took as long as she possibly could knowing that if she saw Brittany’s pout that she’d either laugh or give in.

 

Seeing her now, with a tiny smidge of toothpaste on her bottom lip and her blond hair littered over the pillow, she still isn’t quite sure.

 

She just sets down the glass of water on her bedside table before tossing Brittany’s left behind pillows onto the bed next to her. It makes her smile inwardly when Brittany grabs them and tucks her body around them. She breathes in grumpily and doesn’t look at Santana as Santana removes her plaid shirt and tosses it onto the chair in the corner of the room before leaving again.

 

Brittany’s pout is still in full force when she returns with Brittany’s medication and some socks in her hands. It grows when Santana sits down on the edge of the bed and pops open the lid of her painkillers.

 

“Take one,” she instructs, still trying not to smile. Brittany does as she’s told and rolls onto her back so that Santana can drop the pill into her mouth. Santana hands her the water and she sips from it slowly before Santana holds up the socks in her hand. “It’s cold so I brought you some socks. Would you like me to put them on for you?”

 

Brittany just looks at her and a furrowed brow joins her pout. “You suck,” she says petulantly.

 

Santana still refuses to smile. “That’s nice, my love,” she says regardless. “But would you like me to put your socks on so your feet don’t get cold?”

 

Brittany’s pout begins to lessen but her furrowed brow stays adamantly where it is. Santana leans over and kisses it gently, using her thumbs to reach up and smooth out the wrinkles until Brittany sighs and nods.

 

“Yes, please,” she relents.

 

Her feet are freezing when Santana uncovers them from beneath the covers. Brittany has the blanket cuddled under her breasts and Santana smoothes it over her body before she quickly makes work of pulling the socks onto Brittany’s icy feet. Brittany instantly rubs them together, soaking in the warmth they bring, as Santana returns the covers over her body. Her eyes instantly begin to flutter in exhaustion and Santana watches her as she closes the drapes and turns out the lights.

 

“Do I still suck?” Santana whispers as she climbs into the empty space beside Brittany and rests a palm on her waist.

 

Brittany just groans, her good hand reaching from beneath her body to tug Santana’s hand until it’s wrapped around her. Santana allows the first giggle to leave her then, letting it bloom as warm air against Brittany’s ear. She molds herself to Brittany’s body, pushing her leg between Brittany’s until they’re tangled up in each other. She kisses the back of Brittany’s neck and leaves her lips there as Brittany cuddles the arm Santana has wrapped beneath her breasts.

 

“Shut up,” Brittany mumbles but it just makes Santana giggle more.

 

She kisses Brittany’s ear and sighs happily. “I love you,” she whispers and it feels good to say that so freely. It feels good to feel Brittany’s chest expand with happiness as she breathes in slowly at the admission. Her entire body feels softer and Santana curls into it easily. It takes her everything not to scream with joy that this will be how she falls asleep for the rest of her life.

 

“I love you, too,” Brittany whispers easily in return.

 

And that is the sweetest thing.

 

//

 

The sun is peeking in from beneath the drapes when Santana wakes up.

 

Brittany doesn’t stir when Santana untangles herself from her body and pulls the covers more comfortably around her. She just lets out a sleepy nonsensical mumble and buries her face into the pillow. It makes Santana smile and it feels nice. She’s lighter on her feet as she gathers fresh clothes from her dresser and heads for the bathroom. She practically dances.

 

She’s showered and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats when she emerges from the bathroom. She peeks in to find Brittany still fast asleep and doesn’t hesitate to switch on some morning cartoons and head for the kitchen.

 

She makes Brittany French toast and bacon, setting it out on their kitchen table. She moves around the apartment, opening drapes and tidying things away while she waits for a fresh pot of coffee to brew. She hopes that it might wake Brittany up but it ends up just sitting hot on the counter as Santana continues to wait.

 

And while she knows that she should let Brittany rest her aching body, she kind of wants her to wake up. She’s excited because ever since she mentioned it last night, she really wants to move Brittany’s stuff, to make the apartment theirs together instead of separate. She wants to mix their books and DVDs and to jumble their clothes together in her dresser. It’s all she’s wanted for longer than she can remember and the fact that she gets to do those things today is a little overwhelming.

 

So she steps back into their bedroom and climbs up the bed until she’s half hovered over Brittany. She leans down to press kisses over her hairline, tickling them softly over the skin until Brittany shuffles away. Her hair falls into her face and Santana pushes it away gently, whispering quiet little words to her that don’t really make any sense. Her kisses turn into nuzzles and she’s whispering Brittany’s name against bed-warm cheeks when she finally stirs.

 

“Sleepy,” she whispers and Santana giggles slightly before curling around Brittany’s body over the covers.

 

“But it’s morning,” she whispers happily. She’s sure that she sees Brittany smile at her enthusiasm. “C’mon, I made breakfast. You need to come eat it before it gets cold and then we can move all your stuff.”

 

Brittany grumbles but Santana feels her start to shift onto her back in a telltale sign that she’s waking up. Santana instantly leans over to kiss the pillow creases etched into her face, her thumb reaching up to stroke them out of her skin. Brittany swallows and licks her lips, struggling to open her eyes as she looks up at Santana.

 

“I hate to break it to you, honey,” she mutters tiredly. “But I’m kind of incapacitated.”

 

Santana giggles but kisses Brittany’s cheek sympathetically anyway. “I know,” she says. “But you’re not going to be doing the moving. You’re going to help me sort through all your stuff.”

 

Brittany hums, her hand coming up to grip at the front of Santana’s shirt before it deftly disappears underneath and strokes over her stomach. “That doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend the day.”

 

Santana’s stomach muscles clench and twitch at the feel of Brittany’s soft fingertips and she tries her hardest not to let Brittany’s hand go any further. She reaches up to lay her hand over Brittany’s knuckles to keep her still and Brittany pouts but doesn’t do anything else.

 

“C’mon, horndog,” she whispers, kissing Brittany quickly before getting up. “Come eat breakfast and maybe we’ll have enough time to sneak in a few breaks.”

 

Her tone doesn’t go unnoticed and Brittany’s eyes open and cloud over at the suggestions it makes. Santana walks towards the door and turns when she gets there. Brittany’s eyes are firmly planted on her ass when she turns and when Brittany doesn’t look up, Santana knows that wherever she is in her head is a million times more fun than reality.

 

It takes her a few moments but eventually she swallows thickly. “Promise?” she says.

 

Santana grins.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

//

 

It occurs to her, sometime after their fourth half hour break in three hours, that she’s never going to be able to say no to Brittany for long—if at all.

 

She pushes herself off of Brittany’s body with a frustrated moan and forces herself to move back to Brittany’s closet as she tugs her shirt back down over her curves. It makes Brittany groan out a giggle and when she glances back, Brittany’s licking her bottom lip and staring up at the ceiling.

 

It takes Santana everything not to just climb back on top of her.

 

“How about these?” she says, changing the subject quickly and getting back to their task. What was once Brittany’s empty laundry basket is now full up with clothes that will soon move into Santana’s dresser except it’s been three hours and they’re not even half way through Brittany’s mountains of clothes.

 

And Santana thought she was bad.

 

“They’re summer clothes,” Brittany says, comfortably shifting her broken arm above her head as Tubbs climbs into her lap. She strokes him boredly, looking at Santana with a half-smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. If Santana had to guess, she’d say that Brittany was the best kind of happy right now. “They should stay in here until it warms up.”

 

Santana nods and puts the item into the emptied out drawers before moving onto the next. “What about sweats? I’m guessing all sweats are going into the other dresser.”

 

Brittany nods. “That way we can share and you don’t have to keep rotating the three pairs you own.”

 

“Okay,” Santana nods around a laugh, throwing in all of Brittany’s sweats before holding up a pile of her t-shirts covered in random animal pictures and sayings. “Guessing these are going too?”

 

Brittany nods. “And the plaid.”

 

“Shit, we’re such legit cohabitating lady lovers,” Santana giggles. “Sharing our plaid.”

 

Brittany chuckles and gives her the best kind of coy grin. “You look good in plaid,” she says. “Especially when it’s all you’re wearing.”

 

The urge to get up and crawl atop her is almost overwhelming. She holds back in favor of tossing more of Brittany’s clothes into the empty laundry basket.

 

“You’re bad,” she whispers. It makes Brittany release a warm, honey-thick giggle that Santana’s used to hearing in hotter, sweatier circumstances.

 

She bites her bottom lip and Santana has to shake her head and look away.

 

“Got to get my kicks somehow,” Brittany murmurs.

 

The urge doesn’t go away.

 

They take another thirty-minute break five minutes later.

 

//

 

It’s almost eight o’clock by the time everything is reorganized. Santana wipes her brow as she finishes putting everything in its new place, listening out for Brittany as she splashes around in the bathtub.

 

She hefts the last of Brittany’s schoolbooks onto the tall sideboard in the corner and, as she looks at it, she’s pretty sure that it’s supposed to be displaying their best china dinner set but instead it’s covered in books and records. The record player they found when Britt first moved to New York sits pride of place on the middle shelf. Brittany’s black portfolio rests alongside all her other books and there’s something about it being there that unsettles Santana. She wants pictures of the two of them to surround them. There’s only a few glee club portraits, and some pictures of their family that cover their bookcase. The random, goofy shots they took of each other during the summer still litter the room but they look awkward. None of them match each other and they don’t show off Brittany’s real talent. She needs more of Brittany’s beautiful photographs displayed proudly around their home where everyone can see them. 

 

“We should go to _Target_ ,” she calls out to Brittany as she stands in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips.

 

She hears the wash of the water hitting Brittany’s body and waits for her response. “For _what_? Surely you must have already purchased your yearly quota,” she teases. “Don’t think I didn’t notice those new sheets.”

 

Santana rolls her eyes, ignoring Brittany and the bloom of excitement that fills her stomach as she continues to look around the apartment. “We need more photo frames. And maybe like… some more storage or something because we have _way_ more stuff than I thought we did. Maybe we should throw some stuff out?” She pauses and scratches under her chin. “Maybe we should get some new cushions for the couches too? It looks kind of boring in here…” She pauses and hums in thought. “Maybe I should move all your fancy photography books to the coffee table and make us look like those hipster bitches with their coffee table books piled in the middle.”

 

She waits for a response but all she gets is a bright, flourishing giggle. It makes her stop and she steps over to the bathroom, shoulder resting against the doorjamb as she peers in. Brittany has her eyes closed as she reclines back as best she can in the small space. Her face tilts towards the ceiling and Santana admires the slope of her neck as it slips into the curve of her breast before her naked skin disappears into the bubbly water.

 

“What?” she eventually asks and Brittany barely reacts other than to open her eyes and offer her a glance. Her smile grows and Santana shifts awkwardly as she waits for her to speak.

 

“It’s nothing,” Brittany says and her voice is soft and relaxed. Her eyes stay closed but her smile never falters. Santana’s noticed this ever-present glow in her cheeks since they woke up. “I just never expected you to be like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Brittany shrugs and her eyes open then, head lulling to the side as she turns to look at Santana. “A homebody, I guess? I didn’t expect for you to care if our coffee table looks boring or what couch cushions we have all of a sudden. I mean, when your mom decorated your room, your only preference was that everything be dark. You bought the cheapest paint you could find for this place and everything is used…”

 

The words make Santana blush slightly and she shrugs, moving into the bathroom. She perches on the side of the bath, instantly jealous of the warmth that radiates up from the water. She strokes a hand over Brittany’s bicep before shrugging.

 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess it’s because things are different now, you know? I didn’t want it to matter before, I think. I bought the cheap paint because I didn’t want you to think that it was important. I don’t think that I wanted it to seem like we were making a life together because we weren’t _together_ -together. We weren’t making a home, I guess?” Her face furrows as she explains herself. “But now it’s all different because we are. This is our home together and I feel like it should reflect us together instead of being an unattached mess of the both of us.”

 

Brittany’s fingers reach to stroke at her hip beneath her t-shirt and she stares at Santana with uncontained fondness. Her eyes sparkle, her smile falters, and she shakes her head like she can’t believe what just came out of Santana mouth. Santana reddens and lets her hand curl around Brittany’s arm as damp fingers toy with her waistband.

 

“Get in with me,” Brittany whispers. The words take Santana aback and she’s ready to remind Brittany that they shouldn’t yet. She never gets the chance to because Brittany shakes her head and laughs. “Get in with me,” she demands. “I promise I won’t try anything.”

 

And Santana doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the look in her eyes or something else, but she stands up and reaches for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head before stripping herself of her sweatpants and underwear. Brittany sits up and Santana quickly slips into the bath in front of her, resting against her body with a comforted sigh. It sucks that Brittany can’t hold her as her arms rest on the sides of the tub to stay dry but it makes her feel better about being naked together. She rests her head against Brittany’s shoulder and loves how Brittany nuzzles into her. Santana reaches to hold the fingers of Brittany’s good hand and likes how Brittany instantly turns her palm over to start tracing shapes into the skin.

 

“You are going to be _the best_ wife,” Brittany whispers and Santana’s breath catches when she hears the hitch in Brittany’s voice. Brittany’s mouth presses behind her ear and it makes her sigh, makes all her worries disappear. She’s reminded once more that none of this is a dream. This is her life. “The best,” Brittany repeats. “And I can’t wait.”

 

It makes Santana smile and her eyes flutter closed as she tilts her head to the side so that Brittany can nuzzle her more, her mouth tracing open shapes into the tendons in her neck until lips kiss her gently, reverently. Her other hand reaches to tangle in Brittany’s hair and Brittany breathes out between kisses. She presses a long, soft kiss to Santana’s neck before burying her face in the skin, just feeling the shape of Santana’s body against her.

 

The anticipation for things bigger and better than touch are overwhelming.

 

“Neither can I,” Santana whispers. “Neither can I.”

 

//

 

She knows they shouldn’t but they both sleep in nothing but clean, fresh underwear.

 

Brittany’s body half shifts onto hers and Santana tries to ignore the way that Brittany’s breasts press against her bare skin in favor of remembering the shape of Brittany’s body against hers.

 

Brittany’s newly washed, just dried hair litters over the pillow and tickles the end of Santana’s nose. She strokes her hands over it to avoid pressing her hands against the bare skin of Brittany’s back. All she can think about is that everything is softer than she remembers, from her hair to her skin to the way she’s breathing.

 

She’s exhausted but she stays awake listening and remembering and falling in love with the way that their hands are haloed around them on the pillow. Their fingers barely tangle together from where Brittany’s are still too swollen and restricted in her bandages and it makes something bloom in Santana.

 

It’s something that makes her think that they’ll be able to deal with anything.

 

It’s something that makes her think that they’ll always find a way to love each other.

 

//

 

Brittany isn’t beside her when she wakes up.

 

Her hands reach out to find her just like they usually do but they don’t find anything. It doesn’t scare her and she leaves her eyes closed as she flops onto her back. Her arms stretch out either side of her and it isn’t until she feels the end of the bed dip that a smile finds its way onto her face.

 

It gets bigger when Brittany giggles.

 

“What’s so funny?” she asks, leaving her eyes closed and just feeling Brittany’s presence around her. The room is warm and she just feels different—safer—knowing that Brittany’s here.

 

“Nothing’s funny,” Brittany says and shifts slightly. It almost feels like she’s shifting away. “You’re just cute, is all.”

 

The words make Santana blush at the same time that they make her surge with affection. Regardless of how tired her eyes are, all she wants to do is look at Brittany. All she wants to do is see her face.

 

Her eyes flutter open and she’s kind of disappointed to find that Brittany’s facing away from her. She tries not to pout and instead lets her eyes follow the curves of Brittany’s body from her strong shoulders to the perfect dip and curve of her waist and hips. She’s still wearing the same underwear she wore last night and they rest low enough that the top of her ass is peeking out. It makes Santana smile, even as the sight of Brittany’s bruises painting her pale skin like watercolour brings a furrow to her brow.

 

“What’re you doing?” she mumbles and that’s when Brittany turns to look at her. She peers over her shoulder and smiles. Her eyes are clear and sparkly. She looks like she slept well last night.

 

“Trying to put on socks with one hand,” Brittany giggles softly, lifting up the sock in her hand to prove her point. Santana sits up and Brittany’s eyes instantly flutter to her chest. She drops the socks, instantly forgetting her task before falling back onto the bed. “It’s not going so well.”

 

The urge to comment on Brittany’s sudden disinterest disappears when Santana looks down at her. Her broken arm comes up to halo around her head like normal and her other hand rests on her naked stomach. As she lies back, her breasts lift to give Santana a better view of hard, pink nipples. The muscles in her abdomen are clearly defined and her underwear sits just as low at the front as it does at the back. They’re almost redundant and Santana shamelessly lets her eyes dip to the lowest point. She can clearly see the tattoo there that she never knew Brittany had until two days ago when she helped Brittany to bathe after they came down from the roof. It’s a tiny little rainbow and it shocked her at the same time it made her smile. She’s wanted to drift her fingertips over it since.

 

But seeing Brittany lain out like this makes her hands subconsciously twitch and her breath catch. She’s on her knees before she can even realize what she’s doing, crawling over Brittany’s body until she can lower her head and lingeringly kiss the colored patch of skin. And while she feels like an idiot for being so abrupt, it’s totally worth it for the way that Brittany breathes in sharply. Her ribcage expands and the muscles tighten. Her underwear shifts lower over her pelvis and Santana presses her lips more firmly against the skin. A few inches lower and she’d be buried in the most perfect place in the world.

 

She feels the shaky breath that Brittany exhales vibrating against her lips. The hand resting on her stomach quivers in the air like it doesn’t know whether to pull Santana closer or push her away. Santana doesn’t give it a chance to decide as she kisses further up Brittany’s stomach, trailing her lips over Brittany’s freckles until the hand has to rest on the top of her head to stay out of the way. Fingers tangle into her hair as it trails over Brittany’s body, scrunching warningly when she avoids Brittany’s breasts and kisses through her cleavage. A grunt leaves her mouth and her hand presses down when Santana’s chest hovers over her face. Santana lowers herself enough that Brittany can press a barely there kiss between her breasts.

 

She knows it isn’t fair… not when her own mouth is sucking hard kisses into Brittany’s skin. Brittany pants against her neck, not arguing with one of Santana’s hands on her face guiding her where it wants her. It makes Santana feel cruel because she has no intentions of going further than this. She breathes out as her brain makes a decision the rest of her doesn’t really like. She tilts Brittany’s head back so that she can kiss up her neck, all the way up to her chin where Brittany quickly presses a kiss into her own. Their lips meet quickly and Santana lets it linger for longer than she should before continuing to trail her lips up Brittany’s nose before finishing at her forehead.

 

Her hands remain on Brittany’s face and she strokes Brittany’s messy bedhead from her face as she waits for blue eyes to open. When they do, Brittany looks shocked. Her eyes are dark and rough like a storm at sea. Her parted lips continue to pant the breath that she struggles to take in. Santana can’t tell if she’s mad or not but she smiles anyway.

 

“What was that for?” Brittany asks eventually.

 

Santana shrugs and shamelessly leans down to kiss her again. Their lips run over each other smoothly, softly sucking at each other until one of them moans desperately. Brittany is the first one to pull back and she smiles through her breathlessness, waiting for Santana’s better answer.

 

She shrugs and nudges their noses together.

 

“You’re cute, is all,” is the only reason she can come up with.

 

And when Brittany leans up to kiss her nose, she guesses it’s good enough.

 

//

 

As her head falls to the side so that her cheek hits Brittany’s bicep, something occurs to Santana.

 

“Did you still need to put your socks on?” she asks, loving how their noses are almost touching when Brittany turns her head to face her. Santana’s brow pulls together as she thinks. “What were you getting up for anyway? It still feels early.”

 

They’ve been lying on their backs facing opposite ends of the room for twenty minutes now. Neither of them have said anything since Santana eventually laid back down. They didn’t need to. Everything felt to good for words.

 

“Well,” Brittany says and she somehow manages to shift close enough that she can kiss Santana’s chin. “I was gonna make you breakfast,” she explains, her mouth pulling up slightly. “I figured that I wouldn’t know if I could until I tried but when I couldn’t get my socks on it was very clear that I’m kinda useless.”

 

Santana giggles and turns onto her side until she can press her nose into Brittany’s cheek.

 

“You’re not useless,” she says. “You’re a really awesome pillow for a start.”

 

“Yeah?” Brittany giggles. Santana nods and closes her eyes. Her chest flutters when Brittany bends her arm until it covers her ear. “Plus, I thought you wanted to go to Target today?”

 

Santana pulls back and smiles before nuzzling back in. Brittany looks at her in that same way that makes Santana feel like the universe is small but much more beautiful than she ever thought it could be. “I actually wanted to take you out for dinner today,” she tells Brittany. “Target can wait.”

 

Brittany huffs out a laugh and turns on her side so that their noses are squished together.

 

“If you think,” she starts and struggles not to giggle. “That I’m going to be able to sit around here for another day of kissing you and holding you and watching you move without my heading exploding, then you’re wrong.”

 

Brittany’s cheeks blush bright red and Santana gives her a look. Brittany giggles nervously before going on, avoiding Santana’s gaze.

 

“I know that, like, we’ve already talked about this forty-thousand times in the past two days, and I know that we’re waiting for the right time or whatever…” She flicks her hair back and shrugs before looking at Santana directly in the eye. “But I have never ever wanted to fuck you this badly.”

 

Santana sucks in a slow breath at Brittany’s words, her eyebrow raising as Brittany continues.

 

“I mean, do you not realize how beautiful you are? Do you realize what your kisses do to me?” She laughs and Santana watches her as a warm weight settles in her gut. “I think that, if we’d have never slept together the other night then maybe I wouldn’t be this desperate right now. In fact, I think I’d probably be a million times more worried than you are.” She swallows. “But we did sleep together and now I literally cannot handle every tiny thing that you do because it reminds me of what it’s like to have sex with you.” She laughs and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth before shaking her head. “Like those throaty little sounds you make or the way that your toes curl when you come. I can barely handle your breathing because it reminds me of the way that you pant my name when you’re close and how you can barely say anything at all when you come. I miss the feeling of your legs wrapped around my waist and how wet you get when my fingers are inside of you. I miss the taste of you and how sweet it is mixed with your saliva when I kiss you after. I miss the way your thighs squeeze at my cheeks and how your back arches every damn time.”

 

Santana’s mouth drops open and her throat goes dry. Brittany swallows to clear her own throat before shrugging.

 

“And I know those are all good things but I love you and I think I get what you want because the last time we slept together was quick and fast and dirty… And I know that none of those things are bad…” A smug smile quickly graces her face before she continues. “But it was kind of ruined by what happened after… so the next time is going to be the sex that has to wipe that from history and it has to be perfect but it probably won’t be when I only have like… half the use of one arm to help me.” She shakes her head in annoyance before sighing. “So, I can’t stay here for another day, letting you help me and touch me and dress me because I’m pretty sure it might kill me.”

 

When she looks at Santana, Santana is dumbfounded by her words. Her throat might be dry but her mouth feels like it’s watering. Everything tingles and her eyes flutter as she questions Brittany’s words. There’s a lot to compute and as her hand reaches up to cup Brittany’s cheek, she knows that she understood most of them. Her fingers toy at the curls at the back of Brittany’s neck and their lips are a hairsbreadth away from each other before she pulls back.

 

Brittany groans and Santana realizes that, maybe, she has a point.

 

“Let’s go to Target,” she whispers.

 

Brittany’s sigh of relief should be offensive but it isn’t.

 

//

 

No matter how many times Santana tries to convince her to take a cab, Brittany manages to get her on a bus.

 

It’s horrible and it smells all kinds of funky, but Brittany’s smiling at her as she takes her by the hand and leads her to the back. She looks kind of silly with her broken arm tucked inside her coat and the empty sleeve swinging around but it’s really hard to pay attention to it when she’s smiling the way she is. It’s warm and happy and it almost makes Santana need to stop and take deep breaths but instead she just follows Brittany and takes the seat next to her.

 

She does take those deep breaths when Brittany snuggles into her and takes her hand. It makes Brittany giggle slightly and, when she looks around, Brittany’s got her tongue between her teeth. Santana feels silly but then Brittany’s leaning over and kissing her softly behind the ear without pulling away after.

 

Santana breathes out slowly because she can feel Brittany’s nose against her skin, breathing her in. Her head tilts into Brittany’s as though it’s possessed by some otherworldly power.

 

She feels Brittany giggle against her ear and her eyes flutter at the sensation of it.

 

“You’re cute,” Brittany whispers before another kiss is pressed to her ear.

 

Santana never wants to get off.

 

//

 

She pushes the cart while Brittany one-handedly holds up all the things she likes.

 

It’s a mismatched jumble of all the colorful, patterned and printed things Brittany usually picks, but Santana can’t help but notice that she holds up all the blacks, reds and purples that she likes too. None of it matches but Santana can’t really care about that when Brittany’s standing behind her, chin resting on her shoulder, as she looks through photo frames.

 

It’s too domestic, too normal—perfectly forever—and Santana just holds the frames in her hands as Brittany plans out which pictures would go in each.

 

They end up buying more frames than they meant to but it doesn’t matter, Santana thinks.

 

Because right now, the only things going through her head, are all the moments they’ll have to fill them with.

 

//

 

“So where are we going?”

 

Santana turns to Brittany, laid across the couch with Tubbs in her lap, and she’s _supposed_ to be watching TV but from the way her eyes casually scoot up from Santana’s ass when she turns around says that she probably isn’t.

 

It makes her smile and she feels less ridiculous having a hammer and nails in her hands.

 

“When?”

 

Brittany shrugs. “On our date.”

 

Instant panic fills Santana’s limbs and she freezes. “Uhhh…” she fumbles. “I don’t know. I mean… I hadn’t really thought about it. Where do you wanna go?” she asks. “We—we can decide and then, I mean, we might have a couple of hours to get ready if you wanna go somewhere fancy—”

 

“Can we go to that diner?” Brittany cuts through her. Santana just stares at her, glasses slipping down her nose. Brittany shrugs. “The one we found in the snow? I really want a burger and chili cheese fries and like… a mega milkshake.”

 

For a second, Santana wonders if she’ll ever live long enough that Brittany might stop surprising her. She doubts it and instead she says the first thing that comes to her mind.

 

It’s not the smoothest thing she’s ever said.

 

“You don’t want shrimp?”

 

Brittany just shakes her head and giggles. She runs her good hand over Tubbs’ back in one smooth, long, stroke. Santana can’t help but watch her hands, her long fingers and her rippling knuckles.

 

“Been there, done that,” she mumbles and the words make Santana stop.

 

It’s in that moment that she realizes that Brittany will never stop surprising her, not if she lived for a million years.

 

//

 

Brittany takes the pictures she took of the old couple that run the diner with her.

 

She hands them to them when they arrive but they’re more concerned about her injuries, seating them in the most comfortable booth and bringing them hot cocoa instead of coffee. When they stop asking if Brittany’s okay long enough for her to hand over the pictures, they’re so over the moon excited that Santana can do little else but stare at Brittany as she talks to them animatedly about how she has her own equipment and how it’s her new favorite thing.

 

She doesn’t mind and it isn’t until Brittany reaches over and takes her hand that rests atop the table that she even remembers she’s in the room with them.

 

When the old lady’s eyes notice the move, it brings the same surge of panic in Santana that it used to in Ohio. She waits for the drop of her expression, the unbridled disappointment and sometimes disgust that they would get from strangers in Lima. It never comes and when the woman’s smile just gets bigger and softer, it’s the weirdest thing in the world.

 

She looks over to Brittany to see if she saw but Brittany’s just grinning at Santana like her reaction is better. A thumb sweeps over the back of her knuckles and Santana doesn’t know what to say. She just looks at Brittany until the old woman shakes her head and leaves them alone.

 

It’s not until she’s come back five minutes later to take their order that Santana realizes she’s just sitting there staring at Brittany. She listens to Brittany order for both of them through soft laughter and isn’t sure how she’s supposed to react to this. She’s spent too long believing that everything good is always too good to be true.

 

“I need you to do something,” Brittany mumbles when they’re alone in the corner of the room.

 

It wakes Santana up and she listens carefully. When her face drops in concern, Brittany giggles again, soft and airy and ridiculously beautiful. She shifts forward and Santana mirrors the movement until their knees knock together beneath the table. Brittany smiles.

 

“I need you to lean over this table,” she whispers through her grin. “…and kiss me.” Santana looks at her in amused confusion. Brittany shrugs. “Because I really need to kiss you right now and I can’t.”

 

And Santana’s not sure why she looks around the diner first. There’s barely anyone here and the only people looking at them are the old couple staring from the counter. She doesn’t care about them. They’re smiling and whispering and she knows they’re not being mean. She thinks that’s probably what drive, palms flattening against the tabletop until she can pull herself across the small distance so that their lips can press gently together.

 

Brittany giggles and presses into the kiss a few times before pulling back. Santana smiles when she eventually pulls away. A pretty blush covers Brittany’s cheeks and she can’t stop herself from wiping the damp from Brittany’s bottom lip before cupping her cheek.

 

Brittany nuzzles into it before turning to press a kiss into Santana’s palm. They’re sat like that ten minutes later when their food comes.

 

The old lady doesn’t say anything to either of them.

 

The food is almost cold by the time they get around to eating it.

 

//

 

If Santana knew that all she had to do to get Brittany to ride in a cab was to make out with her under street lamps in horrible, drizzly rain, she’d have been on her from the minute they left the apartment.

 

But it’s not until they’re full to the brim and giggling as they leave the diner that Santana realizes it. Brittany leaves the diner before her and Santana finds her a few moments later, holding her coat tighter around her neck to keep out the cold. She’s looking up the street for something and Santana can’t help herself. She steps up and it doesn’t really matter that she’s holding a paper bag of leftovers that Pearl and Gus—the owners—gave them to take home with them. She grabs Brittany by the collar and brings their lips together without pause.

 

Brittany’s good hand drops from her coat and curls around her waist. She doesn’t even jump, just lets out the best and tiniest of moans when Santana parts her lip with a warm tongue. They kiss almost indecent, their mouths working together furiously. Santana feels something inside of her change as it goes on. She no longer feels the need to pull away, to put space between them. Her tongue searches desperately for something she knows she won’t find here on a sidewalk in Brooklyn, and the minute that her hand delves inside Brittany’s coat, clutching at the soft curves of Brittany’s body, she knows she needs to stop.

 

She pulls back and Brittany pants against her, mouth parted against the skin of her cheek. Arms clutch at bodies and Santana fights not to kiss Brittany as their noses nudge together teasingly.

 

“Cab?” she eventually asks and she’s glad when Brittany nods.

 

Her eyes drop to Santana’s lips and the way her mouth shifts just that little bit closer as she does it promises everything.

 

“Quickly,” she whispers and doesn’t have to ask twice.

 

//

 


	6. Rhythms

Rhythms

They manage to behave themselves the whole cab ride home but the minute that Santana closes the door behind them, Brittany’s grabbing for her.

 

Brittany’s out of her coat already and the mouth on Santana’s is warm and wanting enough that it makes her forget all the things she needs to do. The hands on her waist pull her backwards and Santana only fleetingly thinks of the second lock and chain she still needs to put on. She mostly thinks about how the fact that her coat is heavy and that she’s wearing too much clothing right now. She tugs the coat off of her shoulders until it drops to the floor, loving Brittany’s happy little grunt when she can finally wrap her good arm around Santana’s neck. Her palm covers Santana’s ear, and it makes the desperation rise in Santana enough that she takes control, leading them to the closest available surface.

 

They end up on the couch, Tubbs meowing his annoyance as he waddles out of the way before they can collapse on him. Santana pushes Brittany onto her back, her kisses never stopping as she straddles her hips and reaches for her sling. She struggles her out of it quickly, tossing it across the room without a thought. Brittany smiles into her kiss, her good arm disappearing underneath Santana’s sweater to find warm skin. Fingertips press so firmly against her spine that Santana’s sure there will be some sort of bruise there later.

 

It doesn’t bother her. If anything, it’s reassuring.

 

But she moans anyway, pulling back from their kiss just so she can see the look on Brittany’s face. It’s relaxed and tense at once. Her lips part and they’re wet with saliva, pink with the pressure. Her eyes are closed and Santana rests her weight on one elbow so that she can look at her better. Her nose nudges at Brittany’s lips until blue eyes flutter open to look back at her. They don’t speak but Santana gives Brittany what is sure to be her goofiest smile.

 

It falls quickly when Brittany’s hand reaches up to toy with her bra clasp.

 

Their bodies roll together as Santana denies Brittany’s coaxing kiss. She pulls back, arching her neck and her body until she’s almost having to fight Brittany back against the cushion. When Santana presses their mouths together it’s deeper than before. Brittany’s tongue enters her mouth and traces Santana’s teeth. Santana kicks off her shoes and barely hears them fall to the floor. The urge to feel skin against hers is overwhelming and she reaches down to tug Brittany’s legs up around her waist so she can reach down to take off her shoes.

 

The kisses don’t stop but Brittany giggles into her mouth when the Chucks fly across the room one after the other. Her legs wrap more surely around Santana’s waist and she pulls at Santana’s sweater until she can let it fall to the floor. Her t-shirt goes straight after it and, though the fabric of Brittany’s t-shirt and jean shirt are soft, they feel like an irritant against Santana’s skin. She helps Brittany out of them quickly, pulling Brittany to sit up so that she can push the shirt off her shoulders and untangle the t-shirt from her cast.

 

Brittany’s kisses litter at her chest, kissing her cleavage and the swell of her boobs. Her breath pants warm and damp against Santana’s skin and it’s the best kind of overwhelming. Her heart beats erratically and she can feel everything around her become hazy and wonderful. Her hands explore the naked skin of Brittany’s back, drifting as low as they can reach before moving back up.

 

She feels relieved that her hands still know where every curve is, that her fingertips can remember every nuance of her skin.

 

Her mouth disappears into the skin of Brittany’s throat and when she kisses at the back of her neck, Brittany bucks into her uncontrollably. Santana’s hands cradles her, holding her still as she sucks that spot into her mouth. Brittany shivers and it almost feels like Santana’s bringing her back from the dead. Hands grab at her desperately and a mouth whimpers hopelessly into her hair.

 

“That feels so good,” Brittany gasps out and Santana fights the urge to be smug, choosing to lower Brittany to the couch and continue her path instead.

 

Her mouth moves down the column of Brittany’s throat and over her shoulder before she drifts down to the patch of skin between her collarbone and where the skin rises into softer breast. She litters it with kisses and doesn’t argue when Brittany’s fingers fumble to unclasp her bra. She ignores the action and tosses the item away before urging her mouth back up to Brittany’s sternum. She kisses down it, resting her lips against the quick rise and fall of Brittany’s diaphragm before brazenly licking all the way back up to Brittany’s throat.

 

It makes Brittany gasp but Santana doesn’t stop. Instead, she brings her hands up to join her mouth, palms covering Brittany’s breasts and squeezing before fingertips find and circle nipples. Brittany whines and the sound is better than any song. She doesn’t understand how she always forgets that sound until the next time she hears it. She licks up Brittany’s sternum again, sucking on her jaw for barely long enough before she’s kissing her way back down again. She sucks one of Brittany’s nipples into her mouth slowly, lips enveloping the skin before her tongue can flick against it. It makes another one of those whines leave Brittany’s mouth and Santana lets one arm hold her up against the couch. The hand of the other continues to knead at her skin, stroking gently, as her mouth works in tandem.

 

She can tell that Brittany’s watching her. Her long fingers are tangled into Santana’s hair, holding it atop her head and when Santana pulls back for air, she kisses the inside of Brittany’s wrist before switching breasts.

 

Her teeth are grazing Brittany’s nipple when Brittany stops her slow and steady wriggling beneath her. Her body freezes and Santana pulls away with a pop to look up at her. She rests her head against Brittany’s wrist and it feels like there’s a small volcano in her pelvis ready to explode. Her eyes are dazed and she feels heady. This is better than any drunkenness or high she’s ever had. She breathes unsteadily as one hand carries on pinching at Brittany’s nipple.

 

“What’s wrong?” she mumbles, leaning down to nip at the softest part of Brittany’s breast.

 

When her vision clears, she finds Brittany’s back still arched except it isn’t as tense or desperate as she peers to their front door behind her. Her mouth hangs low and her chest heaves with breaths and if Santana didn’t know any better she’d say she was waiting for something. From here, she can see that Tubbs is sitting there silently but she has no idea what’s going on.

 

“Someone just knocked on the door,” Brittany eventually whispers, more from breathlessness than the need to be quiet. “Listen.”

 

Santana does and, sure enough, a few seconds later, there’s a knock at their door. Santana frowns and resists the urge to groan. She’s not going to answer it _now_. Not for anyone.

 

“What are we gonna do?” Brittany says hurriedly.

 

Santana thinks about it for a second before shaking her head. “We’re busy,” she breathes and licks a path up Brittany’s neck. “Just ignore it. The second lock and the chain are on.”

 

Brittany nods and looks relieved. She kisses Santana’s chin once before urging Santana back to her chest. Santana doesn’t need anymore encouragement and switches breasts, quickly biting the nipple and sucking hard enough that Brittany has to lift her palm to her mouth and bite hard on the heel of her hand.

 

“Sweet fucking Jesus,” Brittany hisses and that only encourages Santana more. Her hand begins stroking from Brittany’s breast, down her stomach and stops at the button on her jeans. Brittany’s back arches in anticipation and Santana kisses where she can as she works it open, sucking bruises into the delicate skin over Brittany’s diaphragm and littering small pecks over Brittany’s freckles.

 

She stops to press her smile into Brittany’s stomach as she laughs into her skin.

 

“I love it when you curse,” she mumbles as her fingers struggle and momentarily wishes that she’d switched to her left hand before beginning.

 

She tugs at the button and she’s about ready to rip the fabric from Brittany’s body when a large crack echoes around their apartment. Santana’s ready to yell at Tubbs for knocking something over but the minute she opens her mouth, she hears a shriek and it’s instantly the most mortifying thing in the world.

 

“SANTANA! BRITTANY! Are you—OH MY GOD!”

 

She doesn’t really see much of what’s going on above her head but she can probably take a wild guess. She doesn’t care all that much, not when it’s so awful. She’s sure that the only part of it that will make her smile when she looks back on it in the very distant future is Brittany’s bitter “God- _fucking_ -dammit” that she hisses out as her hands fall from Santana’s body and on to the couch.

 

The things she’ll try to forget are the way that Kurt screams like a girl and walks into the wall before screaming about his face. She’ll try to forget how Rachel instantly begins attempting to ask them how all this happened, how long it’s been going on and telling them how happy she is to see them back together. None of that really gets heard, not over the sound of Kurt shrieking and yelling at Santana as Santana yells right back.

 

“What on earth are you _doing_?” Kurt asks with utter mortification.

 

Santana’s glad that her arms are holding her up because otherwise she’d find something large and heavy to throw at him.

 

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” She shrieks. “I’m going to town on my girl’s tits, you fucking asshole! What the fuck are _you_ doing barging into our apartment?!”

 

Kurt’s hands drop to his side. “You haven’t called, Santana! I’ve been calling you for three days and you haven’t answered! I thought you were _dead_! That you’d jumped off the fucking Brooklyn Bridge—”

 

“God! Don’t be so dramatic!” Santana shouts back. “I haven’t charged my phone and our line must be down again.”

 

“That’s no excuse!” Kurt screams. “I was worried about you. _We_ were worried about you. You were so upset and you went to see Brittany and then that was it! Nothing—”

 

(“I’m going to kill you,” Santana hears Brittany mutter out warningly between Kurt’s shrieks. She sounds so bored and pissed off that it actually makes Santana want to laugh. “I’m actually going to kill one of you. And if I don’t then my vagina will because she has been waiting _days_ for this—”)

 

Santana looks at him and shakes her head. “And you instantly thought that I’d jumped off the _Brooklyn Bridge_?!” she asks him incredulously. “You didn’t stop and think, ‘shit, she’s probably fucking Brittany’s brains out’—”

 

(“Well, you haven’t yet,” Brittany interjects with the same annoyance.)

 

“—‘I better leave them alone for at least a week’!’” She shouts. “No! Of course you fucking didn’t!”

 

“I thought that, actually,” Rachel says, raising her hand like a third grader.

 

She’s quickly ignored by Kurt and Santana who don’t even pay attention.

 

“Well, I’m sorry for caring,” Kurt scoffs. “I’ll let you jump next time.”

 

“There isn’t going to be a next time!” Santana shouts except she’s suddenly aware of the girl underneath her, laying there patiently. “The only thing I want to jump is Brittany.”

 

Brittany sighs. “And she was so close.”

 

When Kurt has no response to that, it’s Rachel that speaks. She steps forward before quickly stepping back and tightly closing her eyes. Brittany looks down at their shirtlessness and shrugs but Santana rolls her eyes before dragging a blanket over them.

 

Rachel still has her eyes closed when she begins speaking.

 

“I think what I’m getting from this conversation is that we are sorry we assumed the worst of you Santana, it’s just that Kurt was worried because he loves you and cares about you,” she says softly. “And, sure, that’s not a bad thing but perhaps we were being a little irrational because of course you were with Brittany and if anything would have happened then Brittany would have called us. We knew about her injuries—ouch, by the way—so we were wrong to barge in.”

 

There’s a pause where silence fills the room. Santana just looks at the still open front door and shakes her head in disbelief.

 

“However,” Rachel says. “Perhaps you should hang something on the door next time… or put the chain on or…”

 

“We were caught in the _moment_ ,” Santana spits out slowly, her anger rising again. “And it’s our fucking apartment! We shouldn’t have to…” she trails off when Brittany cups her cheek. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

 

Rachel smiles at the pair of them.

 

“We’ll leave you alone to… get back to whatever it was you were doing,” Rachel says softly. “Come to brunch tomorrow and we can talk. Eleven o’clock.”

 

Santana’s still staring into the doorway three minutes later when the door is closed behind them. The apartment is quiet now and she’s pretty sure that Brittany’s grinning knowingly up at her. Santana shifts, her arousal still heavy throughout her body. The mood, however, is completely changed and all she can think about now is that Hummelberry have seen her boobs.

 

Brittany reaches up to kiss her slowly but breaks away when she can’t hold in her laughter anymore.

 

“Let’s go to bed,” she smiles against Santana’s lips.

 

Santana can do little else but agree.

 

//

 

When she’s awoken by the sound of her cellphone ringing the next morning, Santana instantly regrets charging it.

 

Brittany’s body lies heavy against one side of her body and Santana groans as the phone vibrates across the wooden surface of the nightstand. Her hand bitterly flies out to grab it before it can fall off the edge.

 

She doesn’t even look at it as she answers.

 

“What the fuck do you want, Kurt?” she grumbles.

 

She’s met with a laugh that, for a moment, she doesn’t recognize.

 

“Well good morning to you too, Lopez,” the person on the other end of the line says and, when Santana realizes whose voice it is, she fills with regret.

 

“Lil!” She says loudly, too loudly because Brittany jerks and stirs in her arms. She strokes a soothing hand over her back before lowering her voice. “Hey. Good morning.”

 

Lil laughs. “Whatever, Lopez,” She says. “Don’t pretend you’re a morning person because that’d be the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. I just wanted to know when you were gonna come back to work as you appear to have disappeared off the face planet. I’ve been trying to call you for days.”

 

Santana winces and turns her face away from Brittany so she isn’t speaking into her ear. “Yeah, sorry about that,” she starts. “We’ve kind of been busy around here.”

 

“You and Britt still fighting like idiots?”

 

Santana shakes her head and smiles even though she probably shouldn’t be. “No, actually. Things are really good but Britt slipped on some ice after she left you the other day and she broke her arm and messed up her elbow so she’s kind of useless without me.”

 

There’s a silence and it makes Santana nervous. She worries her lip between her teeth and twirls the ends of Brittany’s hair around her fingers. It makes Brittany bury further into her neck and that, more than anything, makes Santana feel calmer.

 

It catches her off guard when Lil’s only response is to ask, “How good?”

 

She stutters for a moment before smiling pathetically again. “Really good,” she says. “Really, really good.”

 

“So you pulled your heads out your asses?”

 

Santana laughs and nods. “Completely.”

 

“Except your girl has no good use of both arms?” Lil asks around a deep chuckle. Santana hums the affirmative before Lil speaks again. “Well, that’s shitty, Lopez but is there anyway that you can help out tonight? Denise is stuck in Alaska and I’ve only got Tara and Stacey here tonight. They’re not exactly the most entertaining and it’s gonna be a big night tonight. Last night before everyone heads back to work on Monday morning, ya know? The last hurrah.” Santana pauses and thinks about it. “You can bring Britt and we can stick her by the bar. Perhaps invite those very camp best friends of yours if they’re in town? I’ll double your tips.”

 

Santana chuckles. “That desperate, huh?”

 

“That desperate,” Lil says and Santana can hear her moving around cases of beer in the background. “You’re good, Lopez—too good for this bar—and I don’t think you’re gonna be around here much longer. So sue me if I’m trying to drain you for all you’re worth while you’re here.”

 

“You say the sweetest things,” Santana says, even as she blushes hard. Those words mean more than she thought they would. “I’ll be there around nine.”

 

“Eight-thirty,” Lil says. “And the first round’s on me.”

 

The phone cuts out before Santana can argue and she laughs as she tosses the phone down to the mattress. When she turns her head she finds Brittany looking at her sleepily.

 

“Who was that?” she asks roughly as Santana pushes her hair from her eyes.

 

“Lil,” Santana tells her quickly. “I’ve got to work tonight.”

 

Brittany stretches and appears unaffected by her words. It’s not until she groans out a yawn and snuggles in closer than Santana knows that she heard.

 

“Boo,” she says lowly. “Can I come too?”

 

Santana nods and wraps her arms around her comfortably. “Yeah,” she says, wondering if she’d be able to leave Brittany alone for that long. “You better.”

 

//

 

What’s meant to be brunch with Kurt and Rachel ends up being lunch. They arrive an hour later than Kurt wanted them too and he purses his lips and busies himself around them when they arrive. He takes their coats roughly, makes Brittany yelp when he bends her broken arm, and ends up getting bitched out by Santana before they’ve even sat down.

 

Rachel sits him as far away from Santana as possible and Santana would yell at her for it but she’s helping Brittany to cut up her pancakes. The fact that Brittany’s thigh is tight to hers helps too.

 

“So?” Kurt eventually says. “How’d it happen?” he asks once both Brittany and Santana are looking at him.

 

Santana looks at him and shrugs. “How did _what_ happen?”

 

Kurt gives her a look that makes every bit of animosity between them disappear. It’s halfway between a smile and a glare and Santana rolls her eyes at it.

 

“She’s wearing the ring again,” he states when Santana continues eating her eggs. “How did that happen?”

 

Santana shrugs and hates more than anything that she’s blushing. “None of your business,” she says.

 

Brittany giggles beside her and nudges their shoulders together. “It wasn’t anything special,” she says and when Santana looks up at her, there’s a secretive twinkle in her eye that captures her so that she can’t look away. “She asked me to wear it again and I said I would. That’s it.”

 

The words make her smile and they’re still staring at each other when Rachel speaks next.

 

“And what does the ring mean now?” she asks knowingly. It makes Santana chuckle and she looks away from Brittany to look at their companions. Rachel’s grinning at her and Kurt is smiling at her proudly. Santana can’t help but think about that morning, two years ago, when Brittany had both of them hanging off her left arm like a pair of monkeys. So many things have changed since then.

 

It’s better now. She doesn’t feel scared when she shrugs and sighs and turns to find Brittany staring at her expectantly.

 

“It’s a reminder that I love her,” she explains around a shrug and she doesn’t want to say this to them. She wants to say this to Brittany. “It’s a reminder that I love you and that I promise to love you forever.” Brittany’s face softens and her smile disappears to be replaced with seriousness. Santana shrugs again because that’s it; that’s all she wants it to mean. “Maybe you deserve diamonds but I’m not a diamond… and I don’t think I ever will be. But I can give you everything I am and everything I have and I can hope that’s enough.”

 

When Brittany leans forward and kisses her, it doesn’t make her blush. She doesn’t care that Kurt and Rachel are watching or that Brittany’s lips are smoothly switching from her top lip to her bottom one. She doesn’t even feel remotely nervous. All she cares about is that Brittany is right here next to her, that Brittany’s eyes have never been bluer or more beautiful when she finally pulls back.

 

Her other hand drops her fork and it comes up to cup Santana’s cheek before she can move away. She strokes it steadily over Santana’s skin and Santana nuzzles into it as Brittany looks at her.

 

“It was always enough,” she breathes and despite the guilt and regret that fills Santana’s chest, she feels hope and relief too. She turns her head to kiss Brittany’s palm and lets herself breathe out calmly. Brittany kisses her forehead and the apple of her cheek. She kisses the bridge of her nose and the tip of it. “You’re more than enough,” she whispers.

 

And it isn’t until she hears Kurt squeak and Rachel let out a little dramatic sob that she remembers they’re even there. Santana turns to them with Brittany’s hand still on her cheek and frowns in confusion.

 

“You guys are so adorable,” Rachel says through sniffs. “I mean, I always knew—I always knew…” she nods surely before diverting quickly. “Do you still wear the locket?”

 

“We never did find out what the picture inside was…” Kurt ponders.

 

Santana turns back to Brittany and shakes her head. She laughs but Brittany looks so serious, so sure, so happy that she stops until her smile matches the soft one that Brittany wears.

 

When Brittany’s hand slips from Santana’s cheek, down her neck, to the bump beneath the collar of her sweater, it makes Santana’s heart beat faster. Her hand presses over it and Santana loves the way Brittany’s teeth bite her bottom lip, how she presses their foreheads together.

 

The metal looped around her neck should feel cold but instead it feels warm and comforting since she gathered the courage to put it on again this morning. It feels like a part of her body was missing and has been returned. It makes her feel like she’s on fire, like her blood is pumping properly again.

 

Wearing it, she feels like the girl pictured inside for the first time in months.

 

Brave, proud and madly in love.

 

//

 

They go home and sleep the rest of the day and when Santana wakes up, it’s to Brittany going through their combined clothing, looking for something to wear.

 

And Santana’s not sure why she’s wearing sunglasses and a straw hat inside but it’s not like she’s going to question it when Brittany’s swaying around to the music that quietly plays from the living room. She’s mouthing along with the words and doing this cute little move with her ass that almost makes Santana want to laugh. She’s as quiet as she can be as she creeps up behind her to grab her. Brittany gasps and Santana smiles as her arms wrap around Brittany’s waist until they’re slowly moving together. She snuggles back into Santana and hums in approval.

 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says quietly as she turns her head to kiss Santana’s jaw. “I was just about to wake you up. We need to get ready.”

 

Her words make Santana’s arms drop and she collapses to sit at the foot of the bed in front of Brittany. Brittany turns in confusion and the sunglasses and straw hat come off when she finds Santana pouting.

 

“I don’t want to go to work,” Santana grumbles as she buries her face in Brittany’s stomach. Her hands come up to clutch Brittany’s bare thighs when Brittany’s fingers begin raking through her hair. “I just want to stay here…” she mumbles. “And be with you…” A groan whimpers pathetically out of Santana’s throat and she nuzzles in, holding Brittany as close as she can without her falling forward. “You’ve got school again on Monday.”

 

Brittany’s fingers stop combing through her hair and when Santana gathers the courage to look up, she finds her pouting. She tugs at Brittany’s thighs so that she has to climb on the bed to straddle her and Brittany traces her hairline as Santana secures her in her lap. Brittany drops down into her lap and sighs.

 

“I know,” she says softly and her pout slowly forms into a smile. “But I’m not worried because it’s going to be so much better now. Think about it.” Santana looks up at her and waits for another genius talking to. “When you come home in the morning, you’re going to come home and get into bed with _me_. When I wake up, I’m going to get to kiss you good morning and when I’m bored and stressed in the library, I’m going to be able to call you and ask you what you’re doing.” She grins coyly. “Maybe I’ll ask you what you’re wearing or maybe I’ll wait until I come home to you and just think about it while I’m sat in class. Maybe when I come home I’ll be right and you’ll _always_ be wearing nothing…” Santana giggles. “Or maybe I’ll find you watching TV on the couch and we’ll snuggle until you have to leave for work. Maybe we’ll nap on Friday nights before I come to work with you but my point is that we’ll still be coming back to each other, right?”

 

Her hand cups Santana’s cheek and Santana nods slowly, head too cloudy with the idea of Brittany thinking about her naked to properly keep up.

 

“It’s going to be nothing like last year anymore,” Brittany goes on. “No more disappearing to separate rooms and no more being scared.” She shrugs. “All of that bullshit is done with.” When Brittany momentarily sucks on her bottom lip, Santana kind of gets preoccupied for a second. “Do you hear me?” Brittany asks.

 

Santana nods slowly and doesn’t feel bad for reaching up and running her thumb over Brittany’s bottom lip. It’s warm and soft and the feel of it is nowhere as good as the sensation of touching it with her own.

 

“I hear you,” Santana nods dreamily.

 

It makes Brittany chuckle and tilt her head to the side. She shakes her head and the kiss that she reaches down to give Santana is too quick. Santana pouts for entirely different reasons but doesn’t stop watching Brittany as she looks at her carefully.

 

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” Brittany eventually says. When Santana frowns in confusion, she goes on. “It makes it really hard for me to talk you into getting ready for work when all I want to do is push you back and do whatever I can to make you come.”

 

Santana’s eyes bug out of her head and Brittany’s grin is devilish. She climbs off of Santana before Santana can stop her, her hands failing to find a limb that isn’t hurting and pull her back. She disappears from the room, her ass swaying deliciously as she peers back over her shoulder to smirk her amusement.

 

“Fucking tease,” Santana mutters before falling onto her back.

 

Brittany giggles her dirtiest laugh.

 

//

 

When Brittany glares at the third person to stare at her legs, Santana begins to wonder if this was a good idea.

 

She’s glad when they get to their stop and drags Brittany onto the platform before she can bitch out an old homeless guy. She pretty much drags her the whole way to work and is glad when it’s mostly empty. Kurt and Rachel are sitting at the bar and Kurt helps her to aid Brittany onto one of the very few bar stools. They’re already nursing ice-cold beers and when Lil sneaks up and plants another two onto the bar, it makes her jump.

 

Brittany thanks her graciously, taking a gulp from one before wiping the condensation of the bottle onto her jeans. It’s probably not the best idea to let her get drunk when she’s mostly been high on painkillers for the past three days but she’s back to school on Monday. Santana wants her to have a good time.

 

What she doesn’t want her to do is to glare at everyone who watches Santana when she’s doing her usual set up on the bar. Brittany’s seen her do it dozens of times but tonight she’s glaring at anyone and everyone who dares to look at Santana, shifting on her seat like she might jump up and wail on anyone who might dare to do anything further.

 

And Santana’s pretty sure that she and Kurt (who’s been making sure Brittany stays in her seat) were the only ones who’d noticed. But that’s until she’s pouring someone a beer at the other end of the bar when Lil comes up behind her and wraps an arm around her shoulder.

 

“I’m not going to have any problems with Brittany, am I?” she asks as quietly as she can over the music. Her mouth is against Santana’s ear and Santana can still barely hear her. The words make her turn to Lil in confusion. “It’s just, you know my rules, right? No significant others in the bar, except I thought it would be different because Brittany’s seen you on the bar and been here enough to know that people are gonna leer… except your boy Kurt has had to shove her back in her seat four times now, so I suggest you either figure something out or ask your friends to take her home.” Santana turns to Lil and feels just a little bit nervous when the woman shrugs nonchalantly. “Just a suggestion.”

 

She walks away and Santana has no idea what she’s going to do.

 

//

 

That’s until she has the perfect idea.

 

It takes for a guy to grab at her ankle… and for Caroline to turn up with her friends and park themselves directly where Brittany might see, but when she realizes what she needs to do, it seems obvious.

 

Brittany just needs reassurance so Santana unties the knot in the plaid shirt Brittany had coerced her into earlier and slowly struts along the bar to Brittany as she loosens the buttons.

 

The fabric falls open to reveal her best black bra and Brittany’s eyes instantly look up to find her chest. Santana makes a show of running her hands through her hair, singing to Brittany and dropping to her knees so that Brittany could reach forward and touch her if she wanted to. It’s a weird mix of pride and disappointment when she doesn’t and Santana bites her lip before waving her ass in Brittany’s face. Brittany smiles her goofiest smile and that just makes Santana struggle not to giggle.

 

The moment is over quicker than she wants it to be but Brittany’s shoulders are relaxed and she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. Santana can already tell where her head is at and when she finds Lil shaking her head in amusement, she feels better.

 

Sooner rather than later, when Santana’s given Brittany her own performance for a fifth time, the last worry on Lil’s mind is if Brittany’s going to bitch out a creepy dude.

 

The only thing she should be worried about is making sure Brittany and Santana don’t go at it on the bar.

 

Because Santana would be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

 

//

 

Lil wasn’t lying when she said it would be busy.

 

It’s almost out of hand.

 

They’re supposed to close at 4am but by 5am, they’ve still got half a bar and it’s a struggle to get all of them out. Rachel and Kurt have already pitched in to help get rid of all the empty bottles and they walk around the bar with their garbage bags. The only person not helping out is Brittany who somehow managed to get herself up onto the bar. She lays across it sleepily, eyes fluttering as the two security guys kick out the last of the customers. Her arms halo around the top of her head and Santana steps up to her because beside her is the only place she wants to be.

 

It’s going on for 6am and she’s exhausted. Two weeks of laziness and doing nothingness hasn’t been kind to her and she doesn’t hesitate to sit down, lean forward and rest her cheek on Brittany’s stomach. Brittany’s hand reaches up to scratch lazily over her scalp and she could happily sleep right here, she thinks. Brittany’s body is warm and soft. Her touch is comforting. That’s really all she needs.

 

“Hey, love birds,” Lil says and neither of them stir when she throws down a crate of beer right by them. It takes for her to messily rub at both of their heads, ruffling their hair, before they look at her. She smiles at them kindly. “Go home,” she says. “I’ll see you Thursday night, Lopez.”

 

That catches Santana’s attention. “You don’t need me tomorrow?”

 

Lil looks at her and swallows. She shakes her head. “No. I need you on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.”

 

That confuses Santana because she knows that Lil is down four girls right now. “But I thought—”

 

“Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays,” she repeats sternly. “If you have a problem with that, maybe you should find something else.”

 

When Santana looks up, she finds no malice in Lil’s eyes. They sparkle back at her and Santana knows… she _knows_ that this woman would possibly do anything to help her. She knows that she’s found a friend. She smiles and nods slowly before standing up and helping Brittany down from the bar.

 

“Here’s your tips,” Lil says eventually, handing Santana a wad of cash across the bar. It feels thicker than it should. “There’s also what I owed you from the last couple days you did before Christmas, so…”

 

Santana wants to tell Lil that they were already square, that Lil even gave both her and Brittany a bonus before they left on their last shift. She doesn’t because there’s a look in her eyes that tells Santana she should just nod her head and leave.

 

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” she says softly. Brittany leans into her side and her arm wraps firmly around her waist. Lil looks at them fondly before nodding at her.

 

“Later, Lopez.”

 

//

 

She doesn’t expect it to happen and that’s why she thinks it’s so perfect.

 

They get home and when she looks up at their new clock it’s almost 7am. It’s late, by Santana’s usual standards. She doesn’t really remember getting home from work this late that many times in the past year. A late morning usually means trouble getting to sleep and she hates that the bitter cold woke them up more than the cups of coffee that they threw away when they got off the subway. She hates that the heating isn’t working up properly again and she hates no matter how many times they ask him to come fix it, their fucking super still hasn’t come and fixed the draft on their living room window.

 

She feels exhausted but not sleepy, like she could stay awake for another ten hours but not do anything.

 

She’d be quite content to just lay here, still wearing her coat and her boots, and watch Brittany as she slowly tries to find another way to undress herself. She’s kind of got the coat down now. She can shrug it off once she’s got the buttons undone and it can look a little brutal when she’s flapping her arms around but she can do it. It makes Santana feel a little better about her going back to school tomorrow. It makes her less worried that Brittany might end up worsening her injuries because no one will be there to take care of her. She can take off her coat and she can unwrap her scarf. She can even kick off her boots without any help.

 

It’s not until Brittany’s broken arm extends as awkwardly as it can in its forced position that Santana feels it’s necessary to intervene. She’s all for letting Brittany try but when she’s letting out an uncontrollable whimper of pain because her shirt’s all caught up that’s enough. She steps up to her and quickly frees her from the fabric as gently as she can.

 

Brittany pouts in relief and doesn’t argue when Santana steps as close to her as she can and undoes her jeans. Her eyes dart down to Santana’s lips and the gulp she takes does not go unnoticed by Santana. It brings a smirk to her lips and she leans forward to tease their noses together before quickly dropping to her knees to push the jeans down Brittany’s legs.

 

Brittany scoffs and Santana tries not to laugh as she gets up and steps away. She starts to remove her own clothing, instead, tossing her coat over the armchair before tugging off her boots. Her shirt, pants and underwear come next and she quickly replaces them with a long-sleeved t-shirt and sleep shorts as the cold whips across her body.

 

“Can you get my bra?” Brittany asks quietly and it’s not until then that Santana notices that Brittany’s been watching her too. There’s a slow burning in her eyes that’s not fierce enough to start anything but makes her feel warm anyway. She nods and quickly unsnaps Brittany’s bra before watching her push her underwear down her legs with one hand.

 

It’s sexy and beautiful and she has to blink to bring herself back into the room when Brittany expectantly hands her a t-shirt and clean underwear.

 

She helps her slip them on quickly and has to bite her lip the whole way. Brittany’s cheeks are flushed when she stands up and Santana swallows deeply to try and right herself.

 

“I’m—I’m gonna go…” she starts, pointing out of the room. “I’m gonna go wash my face and brush my teeth.”

 

Brittany nods. “I’ll be right there.”

 

//

 

She’s almost done by the time that Brittany gets there. She’s wiping her face with a towel and Brittany gives her a smile as she stands beside her and reaches for her toothbrush.

 

Santana automatically reaches to put the toothpaste on for her and Brittany whispers her thanks before getting on with her task. Santana doesn’t understand how something so ridiculously mundane can look so beautiful but she doesn’t think it matters. Brittany’s eyes sparkle back in the mirror and it’s not weird when Santana moves to wrap her arms around Brittany’s waist. It’s completely normal. Brittany barely reacts and just continues, bending to wash her face while Santana softly strokes her back.

 

Brittany takes her hand when she’s done and yawns, leading her back to their bedroom and closing all the blinds and drapes on the way. It could be nighttime by the time they reach their bed and Brittany pulls back the covers before climbing inside. It’s cold and they both shiver before moving to snuggle in the middle of the bed.

 

Santana doesn’t know how long they’ve been laid there staring at each other but she does know that neither of them are ready to sleep yet. The bed is warmer now, their limbs pressing together comfortably. Brittany’s good hand rests under her chin and Santana’s arm curls around her waist. She strokes her back slowly because she doesn’t want to fall asleep before Brittany does and this is the best way she knows how. Except Brittany’s eyes barely flutter like they usually do and she watches Santana instead.

 

“Do you wanna play twenty questions?” Brittany says suddenly and Santana looks at her before nodding. “Except like we used to do it when we were younger, where we forget the numbers and we just ask each other questions until we get bored or fall asleep.”

 

Santana smiles. “That’s not how you play twenty questions?” she teases and Brittany gives her a playful glare before shifting closer. Santana breathes in and sighs. “You go first.”

 

Brittany grins and presses their noses together. “Are you happy?” she asks.

 

Santana nods slowly. “Are you?”

 

Brittany nods around a giggle. “Ummm…” she says slowly. “If you had to spend a month locked in a room with someone would you pick Rachel or Kurt?”

 

“Kurt,” Santana instantly says bringing forth giggles from Brittany. “Would you rather see Sue or Mr. Schue naked?”

 

“Ew. Gross,” Brittany gags. “Mr. Schue. I’d be scared of what I’d find on Sue.”

 

“That’s disturbing,” Santana comments.

 

Brittany nods in agreement and then something softens in her face. It changes too quickly for Santana to like.

 

“Now that you know I’ve been single this whole time,” she says softly. “Do you regret anything?”

 

Santana breathes out slowly and strokes higher on Brittany’s back. “I regret not asking you more questions. I regret not being a better friend to you by asking how things were. Do you?”

 

It only takes a beat for Brittany to nod. “I regret not calling you after I broke up with Sam and telling you. I regret not telling anyone, really. I regret not calling you up everyday and telling you I love you. I regret not kissing you when you picked me up from the airport. I regret not telling you that the only reason I’m here is because you are.”

 

Santana swallows and struggles. All the questions rush to the forefront of her mind and she can’t make sense of most of them. They move too fast.

 

“Do you really think that you could have just been my friend? That we could live here and just be friendly and be with other people and all that stuff?” Brittany asks before Santana can interrupt. “Even if I _were_ single and you knew that, do you think we could have done that?”

 

Santana can’t speak at first. Her answer mingles with her questions and she just shakes her head sharply from side to side before she can find the words.

 

“I thought I could,” she whispers. “I thought that maybe I could be with someone else one day, you know? When I thought you were with Sam I was kind of torn between whether I could or not because I always felt bad being with someone else while you were around, even when it was guys. When I realized that being with someone would probably hurt you less than anything I’d done while we were together then…” She trails off when Brittany shakes her head, their foreheads squash together and she breathes out. “If you’re asking me if I realistically thought that maybe one day I’d be able to look at you and not be madly in love with you, then… I’ve never thought that.”

 

Santana sighs and shakes her head at the idea of it. Brittany watches her carefully with wide, worried eyes.

 

“And if you’re asking me if I thought I could be friends with you if you were in love with someone else then I _know_ I could, Britt. I would never be able to just walk away from you like that. Those months where we didn’t really talk made me incredibly aware of how much I need you just to feel like I even exist, Britt…” She breathes out unevenly and looks at Brittany carefully. “I could happily outlive any lover you ever have…”

 

“Me too,” Brittany cuts through her quickly. “Me too, I mean… It would be hard to handle the thought of someone else loving you and touching you—it’d be the worst thing in the world, actually—but I loved you from afar before… I _think_ I could do it again…”

 

Santana sighs and her hand drifts higher on Brittany’s back, holding her better and closer, until she feels less like she might float away. “You don’t have to,” she breathes. “You’ll never have to.”

 

“I know,” Brittany nods and there are tears in her eyes. “I know that now.”

 

Her tone and her tears make something stop in Santana. Her eyes flutter in recognition and she swallows carefully as she ponders her words. She almost doesn’t want to bring it up but she doesn’t feel like she can’t.

 

“Is that why—is that why you said all that stuff when Quinn came to visit?” she asks breathlessly. “Is that really the way you acted the way you did?”

 

When Brittany doesn’t answer, Santana peers up through her lashes to find her looking away from with flushed cheeks. It says more than anything Brittany might say aloud and it gives Santana the courage to look at her. She studies her carefully and sees all the things she didn’t think she wanted to. They comfort her more than she expected.

 

“When we were at school, I was always jealous of Quinn because she was smart and she was beautiful and she was _Quinn Fabray_ ,” Brittany laughs quickly, like what she’s saying is obvious. The laugh dies when her smile falls and she becomes too serious, too sad. She worries her lip nervously before she speaks. “When you told me that you’d—that you and Quinn had…” She trails off and shakes her head like she can’t bear to think about it let alone say it. “I wasn’t really mad or angry or anything like that… I was just scared because I can’t compete with her, you know? I can’t compete with Quinn Fabray.”

 

Santana looks at her like she’s crazy and shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she says softly. “Of course you can. Of _course._ ” Brittany looks at her and rolls her eyes. “Brittany, you got into NYU. Sure, it was a year late but Quinn is studying _acting._ That doesn’t mean she’s smart. All she _does_ is act. But you, you’re… you’re a genius and you’re the most beautiful girl I have _ever_ seen.” Brittany cracks a smile and it is gorgeous. It makes Santana smile in return. “Sometimes I can’t even bear to look at you, you’re so beautiful… and Quinn—well, let’s just say that she doesn’t make my heart stop beating when she comes into a room.”

 

Brittany giggles and Santana quickly kisses her cheek. It’s warm beneath her lips and she lingers there just because it feels so nice.

 

“So you never thought that something could happen between the two of you?” Brittany asks after a few minutes and it makes Santana draw back and look at her carefully. “You never looked at her and thought that you could feel something for her that was more than friendship?”

 

Santana leans in and kisses the warmth in her cheeks one more time before she pulls back to look at her. “No,” she shakes her head. “Not before she weirdly came onto me. Not during and not for a second after.”

 

Brittany looks at her dubiously and Santana shrugs.

 

“I was too busy being in love with you,” she explains softly. “My heart wanted you and nobody else stood a chance.”

 

//

Brittany doesn’t look tired but she does look relaxed and peaceful. She stares back at Santana as Santana carefully strokes up and down her spine and it’s calming how they can just exist together. It makes Santana slow down, makes her think and stop rushing with the need for information. Her head swims slowly with the thoughts she has, with things she’s always wanted to know and answers she thinks she might have already guessed. Brittany’s half smile makes her feel easy and brave.

 

“Why did you pick Sam over me?” she eventually asks and Brittany doesn’t even seem shocked by the question. “When I came back, why did you pick him over me?”

 

It’s a big question but Brittany doesn’t seem stumped by it. If anything, she looks like she’s always known the answer. She arches into Santana’s touch urging her fingers lower so that Santana can scratch the base of her back. It makes Santana smile because it reminds her of something Tubbs would do.

 

“Because after you left I was convinced that I didn’t know how you felt about me anymore,” she sighs eventually. “I felt lost and Sam made me feel safe and I didn’t know if you really wanted to be with me or if you just didn’t want Sam to be with me.” She swallows and Santana likes her honesty. She smoothes her palm against Brittany’s skin until it makes her squirm a little. “And because you’re better than being a cheer coach in Lima, Santana. I didn’t want you to do that for me. I didn’t want you to stall yourself just because I was there. I’m sure that part of it was probably guilt from the whole Louisville thing but it just made me feel worse, you know? I felt like even thought we weren’t together that I was still holding you back.”

 

Santana softens at how astute Brittany is. She loves how easily reminded she is that Brittany is a genius. She feels lucky that Brittany’s always there, thinking clearly and rationally for the pair of them.

 

“And because New York was your dream,” Brittany eventually goes on. “You might not have said it out loud but I’ve known that you need to be here since junior year so I wanted you to be here.” She shrugs. “You dropped out of Louisville way before you found out about Sam and I. You knew that’s what you wanted to do but there was no way you were going to go through with it if I picked you, so I didn’t. And I’d applied to NYU and even though NYU was a very abstract and scary concept at that point… I figured that, if I got in, then everything would be okay.”

 

Santana tilts her head and nudges her nose against Brittany. “You’re a smart ass,” she whispers.

 

Brittany smiles and snuggles in closer. “I try,” she whispers until Santana giggles.

 

Brittany kisses her cheek and then nuzzles against it. There’s something suddenly awkward about her body and it’s not until she shuffles close enough that she can wedge her body against Santana’s and whisper in Santana’s ear that Santana realizes what’s wrong. She’s nervous.

 

“I want to know something,” she breathes eventually and Santana holds her close because she can already tell that it’s not the good kind of nervous.

 

“What’s that?” she asks as calmly as she can.

 

Brittany swallows and it’s loud against Santana’s ear. She pauses before speaking. “Do you remember the night before we broke up? When we went to Kitty’s thing at Breadstix?”

 

Santana takes a steadying breath before she nods. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Were you going to break up with me before I said that thing about you leaving me behind?” she asks quickly, breathless and terrified. There’s a strained hitch in her voice. “Because I didn’t mean it. I know it doesn’t change anything but I didn’t mean it. Not really.”

 

Santana sighs and wraps her arm around Brittany’s shoulder. She leans in quickly to kiss her neck and taste her skin. It soothes her more than anything else ever could or ever will.

 

“It wasn’t the thing about leaving you behind,” she admits in a whisper. “It was—” She breathes out unsteadily. “Do you remember how Dottie was after they pulled that prank? When she was on her knees on the floor and she was—she was hyperventilating? Do you remember what you said to me?”

 

Brittany buries her nose in Santana’s neck and Santana’s sure she feels a sob released against her throat. She’s sure she feels the undoubted feel of tears against her skin.

 

“I said ‘that’s exactly what it felt like’,” she whispers and Santana nods quickly.

 

“Yeah,” she mutters. “You said that and that’s when I realized that I had to do something. Because all I’ve ever wanted was to make you feel safe and loved and Dottie looked so scared, you know?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want that. I didn’t want you to feel like that and all I could see for the rest of the night was someone on their knees—hyperventilating—except it wasn’t Dottie, it was you and I just… I wanted to make you proud but I wanted you to be free from that feeling.”

 

Brittany whimpers against her and it makes Santana feel terrible. Brittany clings to her the best she can and her arm wedged between them isn’t enough. Brittany’s good hand clings to her shirt and Santana does the rest of the work in keeping them close together.

 

“I was just mad,” Brittany whispers.

 

Santana sighs and turns to kiss her ear, her hairline. “Oh, baby, I know that,” she coos. It doesn’t help Brittany’s tears. “The whole thing was hard but it doesn’t matter anymore. Everything’s okay now. Everything’s okay now because you’re with me and I’m here. I’m never leaving you again, okay? I wouldn’t even dream of visiting Jersey for the day without taking you with me.”

 

Brittany laughs at that and it makes Santana feel relieved. She nudges Brittany away, running her nose over her cheek until she can squash it with Brittany’s. Brittany’s cheeks are stained with tears but when Brittany shifts closer to capture Santana’s top lip between her own, they go forgotten. Brittany’s good hand shifts beneath her body to press fingers against Santana’s chin to keep her in place.

 

It’s soft and warm and overwhelming and Santana sighs when Brittany pulls back. She feels alive all over and the hand on Brittany’s back shifts up into her hair. Her fingers tangle in it and she feels completely content to just hold Brittany and remember that this is what it’s going to be like forever.

 

//

 

“So I’ve got a question,” Santana whispers and Brittany barely jolts as her head tilts back to look into Santana’s eyes. A coy smile curls at Santana’s lips and she narrows her eyes in wonder. “You say that you got my initials written on you the day you fake married Sam, right?”

 

Brittany nods. “Mhm,” she mumbles. “I _did_ get them that day. I woke up and I skipped my first three classes and I drove forty minutes outside of town so nobody saw me and I asked some huge guy called Snakebite to write your initials on me in.”

 

Santana grins and kisses Brittany’s chin. “Did Sam ever see it?” she asks, only for Brittany to nod through a smile a second later. “And how did you explain to him that you had my initials written on your body?”

 

Brittany releases a breathless laugh before she tilts her head down to look at her still half-swollen fingers. “Well,” she starts. “When he saw it, I kind of clammed up a little but then he asked me when I was going to go back to get it finished and get the ‘a’ put in there…” A snort of laugh escapes her and she shrugs her shoulders before speaking. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him so I used to write it in with a marker.”

 

“He didn’t offer to have your initials written on him?” Santana asks.

 

Brittany shakes her head. “He said he was afraid of needles.”

 

“Pussy,” Santana comments and bites her lip. Her cheeks burn as she tries to speak the next words. It’s easier than she thought it would be. “I want to do that.”

 

Brittany frowns in confusion. “Do what?”

 

“Have your initials written on me,” Santana tells her like it should be obvious. “Maybe even your name or something…”

 

Brittany’s cheeks flush but she remains calm.

 

“Yeah?” she asks after a pause. Santana nods. “That’d be cool,” she says.

 

Except Santana can tell, just from the tiny catch in her voice, that it’d be more than cool.

 

//

 

They should really be asleep by now. Like, they should really be asleep because it’s Sunday and Brittany has to be able to wake up at 6am tomorrow and Santana’s got to be able to wake up with her.

 

Except, they’re still looking at each other carefully and Santana’s stroking Brittany’s hair from her face softly and the last thing either of them wants to be is asleep.

 

And something feels like it’s different. Something feels like it should be happening. It _feels_ like they’re waiting for something but neither of them know what.

 

Brittany looks soft and relaxed and calm. When her voice speaks, it’s everything all at once: loud and quiet, soft and rough, expected and unexpected. Her blue eyes are beautiful and honest and Santana feels a million things she was so sure she’d never have again.

 

“Do you really see that future for us?” Brittany asks suddenly and Santana’s confused for a moment until Brittany continues. “With me as your wife… with the babies and the perfect house and the tripping over cats and Sunday afternoons reading the paper and all those other things?”

 

There’s a glaze behind Brittany’s eyes as she speaks. Santana strokes her hair back from her eyes before the backs of her fingers glide across Brittany’s jaw. She can’t help but feel confused and she’s not sure why.

 

“Of course I do,” she whispers. “I see that and I see everything else I’ve ever wanted with you. I see all those things coming to us in a million different ways.” She cups Brittany’s cheek nervously as something occurs to her. “Don’t you?”

 

Brittany worries her lip before she stops and licks it wet with her tongue. “It’s weird,” she whispers and it instantly causes Santana’s heart to beat furiously in her chest. “Before we broke up… I could feel it but I couldn’t see it when I thought about it. There were so many what ifs, you know? I could see things but I couldn’t put them together. Like I could see you dressed in white but I couldn’t imagine dancing with you at our wedding. I could see kids but I couldn’t imagine one of us being pregnant… and I know that sounds really bad,” Brittany says when Santana’s face drops. “But I knew everything—I could _feel_ it—but I couldn’t see it.”

 

Santana swallows and it feels painful. It feels bitter.

 

“And then when we broke up, I could see everything,” Brittany whispers but her voice doesn’t sound happy. It still feels sad. “I could see you getting married—I could see you smiling and dancing with your wife and I could see you pregnant and I could see you holding a baby bump as you moved into a beautiful house. And I could see this floppy-eared dog curling around your feet as you went out to get the paper and I could—I could see you making breakfast for your family. I could see you kissing someone every morning when you woke up and holding them every night.” Brittany shakes her head and her bottom lip quivers. “I could see you doing all of these things with someone but I didn’t know who it was. Yours was the only face I could see and it was all I could think about once you were gone and it _hurt_ more than anything else that I could see a future for you without me.”

 

The look Brittany gives her is desperate and hopeless and she hates it.

 

“I could see it,” she whispers brokenly. “But I couldn’t feel it anymore.”

 

“Britt—” Santana starts.

 

Brittany adamantly shakes her head. “But then I moved to New York—to this apartment—and I let Tubbs out of his cage. I lay on the couch and we made dinner. We brought toilet paper and milk together… and you rubbed my belly when I had cramps and I could smell your perfume again and I closed my eyes one night when I was alone in my bed and I realized that—that girl who got to kiss you every morning and had you holding them every night— _I_ was that girl again. That was _me_ again except it wasn’t. I could feel it again but I wasn’t that girl. I wasn’t for months and now I look at you and I can see everything.”

 

Santana feels tears stream down her face except they don’t matter when they match Brittany’s. They don’t matter because Brittany is smiling and hiccupping in slow breaths.

 

“I can see an entire universe and I feel so lucky, Santana,” she whispers. “I feel so lucky because I almost wasn’t that girl but I got another chance. I got another chance and now I’m going to dance with you at our wedding…” She gasps and there’s so much shock and awe in her voice that the words feel like glass—delicate and breakable. “ _I’m_ going to dance with you at our wedding and _I’m_ going to be holding your baby bump and I’m going to kiss you ever single morning—”

 

She stops speaking when Santana kisses her, long and hard and unrelenting. Instead she moans against Santana’s mouth, breathes hard against her lips when they gasp for oxygen and doesn’t let go. She clutches her hand in Santana’s shirt but she doesn’t say anything else, not when Santana says everything else for her.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she gasps against Brittany’s mouth and the kiss is fervent and overwhelming.

 

Brittany looks dazed and beautiful as the strength of Santana’s body pushes her onto her back. Her hand clutches at Santana’s shirt to keep her close and Santana feels angry with the need for her.

 

“You were always that person,” she tells her through half-grit teeth as she lets that feeling overwhelm her. “You have _always_ been that person.”

 

Brittany looks at her and it doesn’t take a second for Santana to push her into the pillows and move atop her. Brittany looks shocked and confused and her mouth hangs ajar until Santana kisses her furiously. Suddenly, it makes sense what they’ve been waiting for. Brittany gasps and her tongue tries to force its way into Santana’s mouth. Santana pulls back before it can.

 

Her hand curls around Brittany’s neck and she’s so desperate for Brittany to know what she’s known for as long as she can remember that she almost shakes her.

 

“Always, Britt,” she whispers and she has never wanted this more. “Always.”

 

Brittany nods but it still doesn’t feel enough.

 

//

 

Brittany is warm and breathless beneath her.

 

She’s warm and firm and her stomach shifts with the heavy breaths that leave her and pant hotly against Santana’s open mouth. It’s already too much and not enough at the same time. Her hands press into the pillow either side of Brittany’s head and her fingers curl into fabric as it feels like she’s spinning out of control. Her head feels dizzy like she’s not getting enough oxygen but she still closes the small space between their mouths to suck on Brittany’s top lip.

 

It earns her a moan and she swallows it gratefully as she uses her lips to urge open Brittany’s mouth and delves her tongue inside. It’s warm and wet and tastes just as it always does: sweet and bitter in a way that she shouldn’t have been completely obsessed with since she was fourteen years old. She kisses Brittany so deeply that their teeth clash, that it feels like they may never be able to stop.

 

It’s Brittany that pulls back first, her head tilting into the pillows from the force and a gasp painfully leaving her mouth. Santana watches her carefully before attaching her lips to her chin and kissing downward, tracing her jaw and her throat until she can tug at the collar of her t-shirt.

 

“Baby,” Brittany whimpers and Santana pants at the sound of that name escaping between perfect pink lips.

 

She takes the hand Brittany has fisted in her shirt and brings it above her head and smiles when Brittany brings the broken one up to meet it on the pillow without her having to ask. She almost wants to say thank you but instead she just bites and lick at the softest parts of Brittany’s throat and the curve of her shoulder. She soothes the marks with her tongue and settles herself more comfortably over Brittany’s body. Her thighs squeeze Brittany’s when her ass settles against her body and Brittany bucks a little to tell her she’s in the right place.

 

And as she sits up, she feels some sort of ridiculous pleasure at looking down at Brittany like this. It used to be her looking back up at Brittany most of the time. But Brittany’s hair is fanned out beautifully against the pillow, her arms haloed around her head as she breathes unevenly. Her back arches a little and it makes her chest look irresistible. Her blue eyes watch Santana carefully, mouth parted and lips swollen, and Santana stares back into them before she reaches down to rid herself of her own ratty grey t-shirt. It makes Brittany’s breathing increase and her pupils dilate as Santana’s hands quickly push beneath the fabric of her shirt and tug it upwards.

 

Santana loves how Brittany’s body rocks backwards and forwards, shifts up and down, to help her remove the shirt. Their bodies almost tease together as Santana reaches forwards to unhook the fabric from around Brittany’s cast and the tension in the room is so palpable that it’s suffocating.

 

“Front door?” Brittany pants and Santana smiles at her as she throws the shirt aside.

 

She shifts her hips once—a warning to stop Brittany’s teasing—and watches as Brittany’s eyes roll back in her head. “Locked,” she whispers. “Chains on.”

 

Brittany must see the determination in Santana’s eyes and she moans softly before arching her back again. “What—what about the phones?” She grits out as Santana bends down to kiss up her sternum. “Should we turn off the phones?”

 

Santana’s kiss sucks along her neck and Brittany gasps out in relief as Santana’s nose brushes her bottom lip.

 

“Fuck the phones,” she whispers before she’s kissing her again, swallowing the moan Brittany lets out in relief.

 

Brittany’s tongue strokes against her own and Santana’s spent too long this week going slow and gentle. Her hand instantly reaches down to cup one of Brittany’s breasts as the other hand searches for Brittany’s above her. Their fingers tangle and Santana smiles into the kiss, gasping into Brittany’s mouth as her hips rock uncontrollably. Her thumb circles Brittany’s nipple and the insatiable need for it to be in her mouth overcomes her.

 

Brittany moans when she releases her mouth, practically growls when Santana kisses her cheek and then her shoulder. It isn’t until Santana’s lips are parting to envelope a beautifully blushed nipple that she sounds happy again. Her chest arches and her gasps become sharper.

 

She hisses when Santana lowers their bodies together because the heat between them burns. She doesn’t seem to care, not when Santana’s licking and sucking at her skin, not when her nipples are almost raw from attention. Teeth graze and nip to form tiny blooming bruises against perfectly pale skin and Santana feels the sweat on her brow matting her hair to her forehead. It doesn’t stop her and she brings down a hand to touch all the things that her mouth isn’t quick enough to reach.

 

“Baby,” Brittany whines quietly and Santana glances up to find her head tilted harshly into the pillow, her long neck arched into the air. Her hair litters her face and the blush that covers from her cheeks all the way down to where Santana can’t see is beautiful. Her chest heaves with breath and Santana can already tell that Brittany’s already too far gone, that to do anything more would just be mean. She softens her kisses and urges Brittany to calm as she makes her way back up her chest to her neck. She buries her face against it and finds it damp with sweat. She kisses it gently, before stroking her nose all the way back to Brittany’s mouth.

 

Brittany’s so eager that she kisses her nose and Santana’s eyes flutter when their lips finally find each other again. She kisses her steadily, pushing up on her knees so that her hands can roam warm skin. She squeezes Brittany’s waist and lets Brittany suck on her top lip before she sits up on her thighs and pushes the covers away.

 

She throws her hair behind her and when her gaze returns to Brittany, she finds her staring dumbly, her mouth agape and her chest heaving just that little bit more as her eyes litter all over Santana’s body.

 

“Oh my god,” she whispers as her head tilts away again and Santana tries her hardest not to smile in pride.

 

She fails but Brittany doesn’t see.

 

She’s too busy tilting her head farther and father back into the pillow as Santana’s hands cover her breasts. Fingertips curl around her nipples and then sweep beneath the curve of her breast. They rake up her breastbone before Santana lets her nails scratch gently over Brittany’s abs to rest just inside either of her hipbones. Her thumbs stroke and her fingers massage gently. Brittany whimpers and Santana bites her bottom lip as her fingers lift and pull at the edge of Brittany’s underwear.

 

It catches Brittany’s attention and she looks down quickly, breath quickening as Santana pushes up on to her knees and slowly begins to pull them down.

 

And she’s seen Brittany naked more than once in the last couple of days. She’s had more than one opportunity to reach forward and bury her fingers where they both want them to be but she hasn’t taken them because it wouldn’t be like this. She wouldn’t be able to rest her fingers just beneath the waistband of her own underwear as she pulls down Brittany’s. She wouldn’t be making it hard for Brittany to decide where she wants to look most.

 

Brittany’s legs lift from beneath hers as she pulls Brittany’s underwear away from her body. She catches a momentary glimpse of just how wet Brittany is as her legs return to the mattress and it gives her the same jolt it did the first time she bore witness to it. Her thumbs push either side of her underwear down her legs and Brittany’s mouth opens as she reveals everything. Her legs lift to untangle fabric from her feet and as she resumes her position against Brittany’s pelvis, she’s happy to hear Brittany’s low unearthly moan.

 

It feels even hotter than before. They kiss deeply. Their skin sticks together with sweat and Brittany gasps into her mouth as Santana’s body rolls against her. Her hips rock and Santana grunts as she feels just enough friction. It makes her bite Brittany’s bottom lip and soothe it with her tongue as she rearranges their bodies.

 

She shifts until she’s snug against Brittany’s left side. Her thigh tucks itself between Brittany’s and she pushes up just enough to make Brittany’s breathing increase. She cups Brittany’s cheek in one hand as the other reaches above her to tangle with Brittany’s. She kisses her softly, perhaps too teasingly, and trails her fingers down Brittany’s neck.

 

And it’s strange, how Brittany knows what her next move is, how she instantly knows what’s going to happen, just from the way that Santana’s kisses slow. Her blue eyes open to find Santana staring back at her and Santana can’t look away because they look opaque and translucent all at once.

 

Her hands trace Brittany’s breasts and carve around her curves. She strokes her hips and curls around them to feel the soft muscles of her outer thigh. It makes Brittany start to shake and Santana just watches as her hands drift inwards. Brittany’s head tilts back the tiniest amount and her mouth drops open as Santana’s strong hands push her thighs open. Fingers rake upwards and Santana hears Brittany’s breath hold as she waits for the touch.

 

Santana leaves her waiting until she’s panting for breath. She leaves her until she’s shaking and her eyes are desperate and adamant for touch. She waits until she can’t anymore and quickly strokes her fingers through her.

 

The noise Brittany makes sounds like she’s gasping all the air from the room. Everything is hot and stifling and Brittany is soft and wet. She’s warm and Santana’s fingers trace over her, remembering her carefully as Brittany attempts to breathe. And it’s only when Brittany is breathing as steadily as she can, when her chin is tilting up to try and kiss Santana, that Santana moves as purposefully as she’s desperate to.

 

She sucks on Brittany’s top lip and brings her fingers up to rub circles around Brittany’s clit. Brittany moans sharply and forces her tongue in Santana’s mouth, stroking their tongues just as furiously as Santana strokes her fingers. Her hips rock and undulate. Her stomach muscles clench and relax. Santana feels the need to rock herself against Brittany’s thigh but forces herself not to. Brittany is more important. Brittany has waited hundreds of days for them to be like this again, for them to be in love and together. Brittany has waited and this is her reward. This is what she has always deserved.

 

Santana’s middle fingers slip inside of her easily. Brittany releases a whimper at the feel of it and is patient as Santana reacquaints herself with the feel of her. They kiss slowly, lips running smoothly together before Santana pulls back.

 

“I _love_ you,” she whispers just because she needs to except it catches her unaware when Brittany begins rocking into her fingers. Santana barely has to move as Brittany’s hips lift from the bed and begin to push and pull against the intrusion. She rocks herself closer to what she wants and all Santana can do is watch her in awe, eyes flickering from the sweet determination in Brittany’s face, to the slow movements of her breasts, and then further to where Santana’s fingers disappear inside of her.

 

It snaps her back into focus and she darts her eyes back up to Brittany’s before she pushes herself up on her knees and forces her body between Brittany’s thighs. They spread even further apart and Santana feels her fingers disappear deeper inside of her as she lowers her body against Brittany’s. She holds herself up on her elbow and Brittany’s breath shakes from her in a gasp as Santana tilts her body and begins to thrust in and out of her. Her hips still rock into Santana’s hand and the pull of Brittany’s center against her fingers makes her groan. Brittany’s brow is furrowed and beautiful. Santana loves it when her feet hook around the backs of her knees to keep her close. It gives her more room and she thrusts steadily into Brittany’s warm, wet core until she gasps with every movement.

 

When Santana leans down to kiss her, it’s almost impossible because Brittany’s mouth just keeps parting with every thrust curled perfectly inside of her. Instead, she sucks on her neck before bending further to suck one of Brittany’s nipples into her mouth. Her tongue flicks against it as she listens to Brittany’s whimpering above her. She can feel her getting closer every second, her hips rocking so much that Santana starts to wonder if it’s even safe. She grazes her teeth over Brittany’s nipple and feels a rush against her fingers. It makes her movements smoother and she bites her way up to Brittany’s mouth, panting against her as she starts to feel Brittany tighten around her.

 

And it’s just as beautiful as ever. Brittany’s mouth opens and closes around words that she never finds as her face relaxes into wonderment. Santana stares into her wide-open, deep blue eyes and presses the heel of her hand against Brittany’s clit. It makes Brittany’s brow tighten and slowly, too slowly, Santana watches as her body stiffens beneath her. It tenses completely, her mouth ajar, brow pulled together as her body free falls. A moan escapes her lips and when her tense muscles relax into earth-shattering spasms of pleasure, whatever breath she’d been holding instantly gasps from her. Her body continues to shudder and Santana looks at her in awe as her fingers remain stationary inside of her body.

 

“I…love…you… too…” Brittany gasps and Santana can do little other than kiss her fiercely in response.

 

Because with her fingers still inside of Brittany, and Brittany’s body still spasming and clenching around her, all Santana wants is more. She kisses Brittany hoping to please the want but it doesn’t work and she pulls back until she can whisper words into Brittany’s mouth, until she can only just see her eyes.

 

“More?” she whispers. Brittany looks at her and the fear of her saying no clutches at Santana’s chest. “Please?” she begs. “I want to see you come. I want to feel you come. I want to taste you and touch you and—”

 

When Brittany does little more than moan against her mouth and lift a hand to Santana’s head to push her downward, Santana gets her answer.

 

//

 

She likes the way that Brittany’s barely calmed muscles instantly start to shake as she begins to kiss her way down Brittany’s body. It makes her slow down and her lips treasure and rediscover all the things she hadn’t allowed herself the pleasure of when they were drunk. She kisses her carefully, her dark hair trailing with her as she moves to lick and suck at Brittany’s shoulders, her breastbone. She even kisses Brittany’s armpits, kissing their a few sporadic times before she traces her tongue down the ridges at the side of her ribcage.

 

She doesn’t argue when Brittany grabs one of her hands from where it rests beside her on the mattress. She just looks up through the curtain of her dark hair to watch as Brittany holds it against her diaphragm, urging it to stay there. She presses a pacifying kiss to Brittany’s waist just to reassure her and Brittany breathes just a little easier because of it. It soon turns into a sigh of relief when Santana brings her other hand up to grip at her waist before curving it beneath her ass.

 

Her mouth continues to kiss Brittany’s body, her lips drifting to Brittany’s abdomen as one hand squeezes uncontrollably at her ass. It’s a little overwhelming because a surge of leftover longing hits her as she remembers all these things that she’s missed. Her nose traces Brittany’s freckles as her mouth parts to gasp for breath and her fingers stroke against the smoothest skin at the curve of Brittany’s ass. Her nails grip into it as her tongue delves wetly into Brittany’s bellybutton for a moment before withdrawing to kiss it tenderly.

 

“That—that feels _so_ good,” Brittany hisses as Santana pays attention to her hipbones and the tiny new rainbow tattoo. It makes her smile and almost makes her want to stop and just camp here against Brittany’s stomach for the rest of the day

 

The thought quickly disappears when her head tilts downward the tiniest amount and catches the smell of her.

 

It’s intoxicating and she barely registers that Brittany’s breathing is panting from her again, that her diaphragm is practically vibrating beneath her hand. She’s too busy pressing her nose against the skin and moving downwards. The hand on Brittany’s thigh spreads them as much as it can, nails digging into her skin as her own breath hitches when her nose lowers enough that it bumps her clit.

 

It’s wet and Santana can hear nothing but the ringing in her ears, see only the flushed flesh before her. She can feel the wetness and the heat radiating from her skin. She can smell nothing but Brittany’s delicious scent and all that’s left is to taste her. Her tongue pokes out and quickly flattens against her and it’s heaven.

 

She pauses for a moment, her tongue reacquainting itself with the texture and taste of her. She’s softer than Santana remembers—sweeter too. She pants against her and she can hear Brittany moaning above her, body wriggling enough that the hand on Brittany’s diaphragm has to shift down to press against her hips to keep her steady.

 

When her tongue begins repeating its long, delicious strokes against her, Santana feels a cloudiness overcome her. Her own center begins to burn with the need for release but she ignores it, her tongue exploring Brittany’s core and remembering it happily. She sucks on her clit just once, the tip of her tongue flicking against it as she pulls away. She traces her entrance and breathes against her until she gathers herself enough that she can suck her clit again. She clamps her mouth around it, sucking hard until Brittany groans and reaches down to tangle a hand in her hair and keep her still. Santana giggles against her, the vibrations making her quiver before her teeth graze over her teasingly.

 

The groan she releases is gorgeous and Santana dips lower and starts lapping at her entrance and the wetness that comes from it. Brittany’s legs lift from the mattress beside her as her hips roll into Santana’s mouth. Santana licks harder, until Brittany’s feet press at her shoulders and her pelvis rocks steadily into her mouth. An almost melodic whine leaves her lips and Santana can’t help but chuckle again.

 

“That feel good?” she pulls away to ask but she never gets an answer. Brittany’s too busy moaning and forcing her head back where it was.

 

And everything is kind of quick then. Brittany’s moans have always been the hottest thing she’s ever heard, but when they’re hopelessly escaping after attempts to speak they’re a million times hotter.

 

“Santana— _fuck_ —” She groans as Santana moves both hands down to her thighs. One squeezes her ass while the other hooks around her hip. Her breath threatens to fail, the words panting from her heavily as her entire body rocks into Santana’s mouth. “Don’t— _fuck_ —don’t— _oh fuck­—oh fuck—fuck­—_ ”

 

Santana squeezes her legs together at the effect Brittany swearing has on her. Her words make her act more fervently and her tongue dips inside of Brittany’s entrance as it sweeps up to curl around her clit. Brittany moans and continues her expletive chant. Santana knows that she’s almost there when the words die out and she just moans. It makes her more determined and Brittany’s feet slip to cross over each other on her shoulder blades as she poises her fingers at Brittany’s entrance.

 

When Santana easily slips two fingers inside of her and instantly presses against that perfect spot inside her it doesn’t take anything else. Brittany snaps with a cry, her body buckling as her chest arches and her hips buck into Santana’s mouth. The fingers inside of her slip out again and Brittany’s thighs quiver either side of her face as she slowly licks her clean.

 

Brittany whimpers, body shaking and murmuring in happiness. Her hand loosens in Santana’s hair and she pets it gently as Santana continues to bring her aftershocks of pleasure.

 

Her breathing slows and her legs slip lifelessly back to the mattress as Santana presses a kiss to the muscle still twitching in her thigh. She crawls back up Brittany’s too-sensitive body before she kisses her softly, loving the way she hums at her own taste in Santana’s mouth.

 

Her cheeks are flushed pink and when Santana pulls back to smile at her, all she gets is a look of determination.

 

//

 

When Brittany sits up, it almost knocks her backwards.

 

Her hands fly to Brittany’s shoulders and the smug expression on her face drops at the determined one on Brittany’s.

 

Brittany’s broken arm wraps comfortably around her waist, her fingertips digging in as much as they can as her other hand cups Santana’s cheek. Santana lets her hips drop until she’s falling into Brittany’s lap and gasps when Brittany kisses her quickly, tongue tracing her mouth, still humming at her own taste she finds there.

 

Her fingers curl around the ends of Santana’s hair and it makes something in Santana relax. She brings her arms up and wraps one around Brittany’s waist to keep her close and the other around her neck. Her hand tangles in the birds nest at the back of her head and rubs at Brittany’s scalp.

 

“You’re perfect,” Brittany whispers when she draws back from the kiss. She sweeps Santana’s hair from her face and just looks at her until Santana’s too aware of the warmth all over her body. Brittany’s face is flushed and she’s hot to the touch. Santana nudges their noses together and gasps when Brittany’s hand starts drifting down her body.

 

“You don’t have to,” she whispers as Brittany feels the weight of one of her breasts in her hand. Her thumb curls around a nipple and it catches her off-guard when Brittany unexpectedly bends down to suck the other nipple in her mouth. Santana gasps and sighs all at once as her body bends away from Brittany to give her better access. Her hand throws outwards to steady herself against the mattress and her body begins to move of its own accord.

 

It alarms her how wound up she is already. Every inch of her skin tingles wonderfully and Brittany treats her delicately as she kisses all over her chest, her hand slipping down to grip at her waist. Santana already knows that this isn’t going to last long. Brittany’s eyes watch her and they’re so blue that they almost look like the night sky. They sparkle with stars and Santana pants uncontrollably at the hunger in them. Her fingers curl into the sheet beneath her hand and she completely underestimated how much she needs Brittany to touch her.

 

And Brittany knows, just like she always does. She kisses through her cleavage before moving gently up to her neck. She sucks at the spot that Santana always forgets about until Brittany finds it again and Santana can already feel muscles clenching. Brittany’s fingers stroke her skin, fingertips curling over the lines in her stomach and the bones of her hips. She squeezes her thigh and doesn’t waste any time teasing like Santana had done to her. Her fingers glide up Santana’s inner thigh before fingertips find her clit and toy with it purposefully.

 

Santana gasps but still manages to pant out a “be careful” in warning even as all the muscles holding her up threaten to quit. Brittany just pulls back to look at her and smiles at her through hooded, happy eyes. She kisses her slowly, her fingers circling and tracing carefully. Santana breathes out shakily and bites on Brittany’s bottom lip when strong fingers take one sure and searching stroke through the length of her. Fingertips circle her entrance and that’s when Santana’s first moan escapes.

 

“Oh my god,” she breathes as her other hand reaches out to help the other. Brittany’s fingers fill her too easily to not be just a little embarrassing and stroke her in a way no one else has ever been able to. She really doesn’t care, though. Her eyes are too busy rolling back in her head as another breathy moan leaves her. Her ass is too busy rocking into Brittany’s fingers as she reaches just shy of that spot inside of her. Her thumb sweeps over her clit and Santana’s eyes open to find Brittany staring at her.

 

The fingers of her broken hand tickle against the base of her back because it’s all they can do and Brittany licks her lips as her eyes take in every inch of her.

 

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers when Santana can’t help but reach up and squeeze at one of her own breasts. She pinches her nipple and rocks into Brittany’s fingers, urging her just that little bit further to give her what she needs. Her hooded eyes flutter and her lips struggle around words that become moans. She bites her lip and Brittany breathes deeper, her thumb stopping it’s teasing sweeps over her clit as she bites the bullet and uses her cast to pull Santana closer. “Tell me,” she husks. “Tell me what you need—” She groans and Santana knows it’s because she’s tightening around her fingers. “Fuck, tell me.”

 

Her desperation matches Santana’s and Santana rocks forward on her knees until she can reach forward and kiss her. Their tongues battle and she groans into Brittany’s mouth as they fall back into the pillows.

 

“More,” Santana finally begs as she rests their foreheads together. “I need— _harder—_ ” She groans. “Deeper— _oh_ _fuck…_ ”

 

She yelps when Brittany does as she asks and taps that deep inside of her. Her body buckles and deep, overwhelming waves of heat and bursting pleasure wash over her. She feels them from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’s vaguely aware of noises leaving her mouth and she can feel Brittany drawing her release out with swipes of her clit and a palm rubbing over her center.

 

Her body softens and all she can do is gasp and fist her hands into the pillows beside Brittany’s head. Sweat drips down her forehead. It coats the base of her back and she can feel it cooling the backs of her thighs. Her hair falls in her eyes and she doesn’t care because she’s looking down at Brittany and feeling everything as she strokes her inner thighs, her tummy, her waist. It’s more soothing than anything else.

 

It confuses her a little when Brittany scoots down, when she’s flat on her back. Santana’s brow furrows as Brittany’s broken arm resumes its place haloed above her head as her good hand strokes up Santana’s stomach. She bites her lip and Santana swallows slowly.

 

“I’m not done yet,” Brittany whispers with an urging squeeze of Santana’s backside and that’s when she gets it.

 

She groans inwardly and doesn’t need to be told twice. Her heavy limbs shift up the bed until her knees are either side of Brittany’s face. One hand grips the headboard in anticipation while the other forearm rests against the edge. She presses her forehead into it and looks down at Brittany expectantly. Her knuckles go white in anticipation.

 

“Sit,” Brittany instructs, even though her good arm is wrapping around Santana’s hips and tugging.

 

Brittany’s tongue enters her without preamble and Santana moans loudly, her entire body shaking. Brittany giggles against her and she already feels her second orgasm building pathetically. Nails scratch over her ass cheeks and down her thighs before stroking back up over the rough sting. She groans at the way Brittany’s tongue moves inside of her, her nose just nudging her clit just enough to send sharp jolts of pleasure through her body. Her hips roll into the movement and all it takes is for Brittany to nip at her clit a few moments later and she’s gone too quickly, thighs squeezing and hips jerking against Brittany’s face uncontrollably.

 

And when she’s done and her legs are just able enough to move and the embarrassment is only just kicking in, she tries to climb off Brittany when but Brittany’s hand holds firmly around Santana’s waist.

 

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Brittany mumbles and when Santana rests her forehead against her arm and peers down at her, her hair is everywhere and her blue eyes are mischievous and insatiable. Fingertips stroke the backs of Santana’s knees and that’s always been her weakness. Brittany bites her lips and reaches up to press a kiss against her clit quickly. “I said I’m not done yet,” she whispers.

 

Santana takes a deep breath and when Brittany tugs her to her mouth, she doesn’t argue—she moans.

 

She moans until her throat hurts too much to continue.

 

//

 

When she wakes up, she can’t even remember going to sleep.

 

Her body drifts slowly into alertness and all she can really feel aware of is that her body is draped over Brittany’s, that there’s fingers tracing up and down her spine and that one of them had the sense to pull the covers back up over them. It’s nice and the memory of what happened before she fell asleep is enough for a pleased grin spread across her face.

 

She buries it into Brittany’s neck and sighs happily when Brittany sleepy giggles. The arm around her back tightens and Brittany turns and messily kiss the side of her head. Her own arms rest either side of her, hidden beneath the warmth of the pillows and she stretches them to get the feeling back in her fingers.

 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Brittany whispers against her ear.

 

It sends shivers up her spine that Brittany strokes away and she turns her head to give herself space to speak softly.

 

“Hello,” she answers through the remnants of sleep. When she tries to move, she becomes too aware of the heavy ache throughout her body. It’s the best kind of pain and she sighs at it before turning her head to kiss Brittany’s pulse. “How long have I been asleep?” she asks.

 

Brittany giggles again and her head tilts until her chin rests against Santana’s temple. Her fingers stroke up Santana’s spine and her palms flatten against her shoulder blades as she brings Santana nearer.

 

“Well,” Brittany says as her fingers play with the ends of Santana’s hair. “You didn’t really fall asleep.” Santana’s eyes narrow and she feels the amusement in the shaking of Brittany’s muscles. “You did, however, blackout about six hours ago.”

 

Santana groans in embarrassment and turns her head to hide it in Brittany’s skin. She feels her cheeks burn and she shakes with Brittany’s laughter. No wonder she can’t remember falling asleep.

 

“I thought perhaps you’d come around but… after ten minutes of you sitting slumped around my neck, it kind of became a bit too much,” Brittany giggles and kisses her forehead. “I honestly have no idea how I managed to get you comfortable. It probably had something to do with your arms and legs being like spaghetti from all those org—”

 

“Shuddup,” Santana grumbles, quickly bringing up a hand to cover it over Brittany’s mouth. Brittany pants hot belly laughs against it and it makes it impossible to be mad at her. Still, when she manages to hold herself up on the other elbow, she glares at Brittany and tells her, “I’m mad at you.”

 

Brittany has the kindness to look offended, even as she giggles harder. “Why?” she asks. “Because I made you come so hard you blacked out for six hours?”

 

Santana swats at her shoulder at the brazenness of her words and gives her a warning glare. “No,” she tells her pointedly, even as she leans down to slowly press a kiss to Brittany’s lips. “Because I was supposed to be the one making you black out but you practically chained my lady parts to your face.”

 

The kiss manages to stop Brittany’s giggles but keeps her smiling. She grins into the kiss and lets her hand tangle in Santana’s hair. There’s a beautiful carefreeness to her that wasn’t there yesterday and Santana strokes her face as she kisses her just to see her expressions change. She waits for Brittany’s eyes to flutter open until she kisses her again and pulls back to press their noses together.

 

Brittany pouts, despite the unbridled happiness in her eyes. She cups Santana’s cheek and runs her thumb over Santana’s swollen top lip before she speaks.

 

“But I missed you,” Brittany mumbles and it’s so cute and honest that Santana can’t even remember what she was mad for.

 

And Brittany must be able to see that because her pout falls into a grin as she tugs Santana into a kiss that makes her forget everything else, too.

 

It leaves her panting and she pulls back when she realizes, smiling even as she groans. “Damn it, Britt, I’m trying to be mad.”

 

Brittany smiles coyly before kissing her neck. It really, really doesn’t help.

 

“But I did,” she says as the movements of her mouth go from innocent to filthy. “I missed making you hot and seeing you come—” She pauses to groan and Santana pants hard against her as Brittany’s hand slips from her cheek to wrap around her waist. “I missed touching you with my fingers and putting my tongue on you and in you—Because you taste good… Did you know that?” she asks as her hand slips down to Santana’s ass, grabbing and groping and urging their pelvises to rock together. “You taste so good, baby.”

 

Santana’s only response is to let her eyes flutter as they roll back into her head. Brittany’s pelvis rocks into hers and Santana’s breath catches in her throat when Brittany forces one of her legs between hers and rocks them together until their both desperately gasping for breath.

 

And even though Brittany looks ready to lose control, she still looks at Santana with that same smug grin. She still kisses her and tugs at her ass to force Santana to drag each desperate movement across her thigh. Santana feels ready to collapse. The ache in her thighs has become a burning and her hands grab at Brittany’s face, her neck, and kiss her desperately as the release comes too quickly.

 

It’s not like she cares, not when Brittany continues to rock against her, not when her release comes so peacefully that she barely makes a noise. She just watches her silently, kisses her slowly when she can and strokes blond hair from beautiful blue eyes.

 

When Brittany giggles once more, and her cheeks flush the prettiest pink that Santana’s ever seen, Santana can only feel utterly content. She can only giggle back and kiss Brittany with everything she has and hold her as tightly as she is able.

 

She can only let the warmth of Brittany’s happiness wash over her and feel proud of herself.

 

//

 

Their X-rated acts stop when Tubbs jumps up onto the bed beside them.

 

Santana tries to let her hand continue wandering Brittany body beneath the covers but Brittany just grabs it and tugs it atop the covers as Tubbs patiently curls up beside them.

 

“Why?” Santana asks her in a whisper and she’s not sure why she’s doing it.

 

Brittany just nudges their noses together before shaking her head the tiniest amount. She kisses her briefly and pulls Santana’s arm until they both wrap around her neck.

 

“Not in front of our boy,” she whispers as they just kiss slowly, lazily, like they used to in high school.

 

Santana isn’t too happy about it but the reference to Tubbs being theirs—to an actual living thing being theirs—makes her heart beat too hard in her chest. It slows her kisses down until Brittany’s breathing is sharp and shallow. She can already imagine how Brittany’s going to boss her around for the rest of her life, how she’s going to have to warn her to behave herself in front of their kids.

 

It makes her feel warmer than any blanket could and she rests their foreheads together as she closes her eyes and thinks about it.

 

She already can’t wait.

 

//

 

It’s late by the time that she manages to pull herself from the bed, grabbing her t-shirt from the floor and tugging it over her ass when she can’t find her panties.

 

Brittany’s dozing on her front, her hand outstretched over Tubbs’ back where she’d been petting him. Santana finds new underwear and socks and then slows when she feels eyes on her, watching her move around the room. It makes her smile and when she peers behind her she find Brittany looking at her with narrow and concentrating eyes.

 

“Where are you going?” Brittany mumbles, cheek resting on her bicep.

 

Santana can already see the first signs of back-to-school sadness soaking into her features and it makes her worry. It makes her wish that they’d spent less time being stupid and more time being with each other.

 

She brushes Brittany’s hair from her eyes when she sits back down on the bed beside her and smiles warmly. “I was going to go make dinner,” she tells her quietly. “What do you want to eat?”

 

Brittany gives her a wicked smile. “You,” she grins honestly.

 

Santana rolls her eyes. “I think you’ve had enough of that for now,” she giggles. “You need some actual sustenance. Plus, I need to go check that we’ve got some juice boxes and snacks for you to take to class tomorrow.”

 

“Nooooo,” Brittany instantly says, rolling into the pillow and hiding her face. “No school.”

 

Santana leans forward to kiss her shoulder and giggles into her skin. “But you like school…” she tries.

 

Brittany grumps.

 

“I like being here with you, more,” she mumbles honestly.

 

Santana strokes her hair gently and smiles because it’s impossible not to. She sighs and shifts around until she can wrap her arms around Brittany and keep stroking her hair. Brittany snuggles back into her and Santana kisses the apple of her cheek.

 

“I know,” Santana coos softly, gently. “I’m so used to you being here all day and now you have to go be a genius again and it’s gonna suck. But I’m gonna take you to school tomorrow and I’m going to go with you to explain to your professors about your wrist… and I’ll find something to do until you have a break between classes and I’m going to bring you lunch to cheer you up and then I’ll walk you back to class and then I’ll wait till you’re finished for the day…” Brittany sighs in definite relief. “If that’s okay…”

 

“That’s okay…” Brittany says, quickly. “I’d like that.”

 

Santana leans over to kiss her quickly before drawing back. She keeps stroking Brittany’s hair until she feels all the worry and disappointment disappear.

 

“Shall I order us a pizza?” she asks against the back of Brittany’s neck.

 

Brittany nods and Santana doesn’t move, she just leans over to the nightstand to grab her phone.

 

//

 

They eat pizza naked on their couch wrapped in a blanket while they watch Sunday night TV. Tubbs sits on the rug in front of the radiator, ignoring them when their playful kisses turn into deep kisses with wandering hands and gasped breaths.

 

Santana runs Brittany a bath and lights candles that make the room smell clean and heavenly. She leads Brittany into the room and doesn’t have to strip her. She just wraps her cast and removes the dressing on her elbow. She washes Brittany’s hair and the rest of her before slipping her hand down Brittany’s front to the apex of her thighs. She rubs her gently, leaning over to tease kisses against her mouth before giving up and climbing in the bath with her. The floor is soaked by the time that Brittany’s sweaty and spent and Santana washes her body again before sitting up on her thighs and washing herself.

 

She dries both of their hair and does all the things that she used to do before she went back to school after a break. She spreads moisturizer over Brittany’s body, the act turning into some sort of massage rather than anything else. Brittany’s muscles are soft and relaxed by the time she’s done and that makes Santana feel better too. Brittany absent-mindedly watched a movie while Santana reapplies a clean dressing to her arm. It’s mostly healed now and she presses a kiss over the clean, white bandage once she’s done, just to help it along.

 

It makes Brittany smile and Santana wraps her in a clean t-shirt and underwear before disappearing into the kitchen. She finds Brittany some snacks and a couple of bottles of water and puts them inside Brittany’s backpack that sits in the hall. She gets Brittany to tell her which books she needs tomorrow and Santana packs it all away before getting Brittany’s cameras and setting everything up by the front door.

 

That worried look is back in Brittany’s brow by the time she gets back to the living room but it goes away when Santana paints Brittany’s nails and rubs her feet.

 

She’s mostly asleep by the time she’s done and Santana leads her to the bedroom, stripping her naked and guiding her to the pillows before making love to her slowly. Brittany’s breathing is slow and when Santana stops her hands from drifting between her legs, Brittany doesn’t argue.

 

She lets Santana guide her onto her side and wrap her arms around her. She lets Santana stroke her forearm and the back of her hands.

 

She lets Santana sing her to sleep and that, more than anything, makes Santana happy.

 

//

 

Brittany wakes up before the alarm and when Santana finds her—half-dressed and half-awake, messily pouring cereal into two bowls—she falls in love with her just a little bit more.

 

“What are you doing?” Santana asks her as she steps up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist.

 

Brittany barely jumps and sighs at being caught. Her hands put down the cereal box and grip onto Santana’s wrists. From where she stands, Santana can see that there are cheerios everywhere. There’s also a cereal bowl, smashed into large jagged pieces, sitting on the counter near Brittany’s hand.

 

“Well, I was trying to prove to myself that I’m not completely useless but… I think I failed,” she explains sadly.

 

Santana pouts and kisses her neck until Brittany turns in her embrace. Her arms wrap around Santana’s waist and Santana snuggles into her neck, giving her the comfort she needs to say what she needs to say. She scratches her forehead with the back of her wrist before she does.

 

“I really wanted to make you breakfast to prove to you that I don’t need you as much as I feel like I do,” she mutters sadly. “And I couldn’t even make you a bowl of fucking cheerios, so…”

 

Santana looks at her and feels herself deflate almost as much as Brittany has. She sighs and holds her closer. “Baby…” she whispers. “It doesn’t matter; you’re hurt.”

 

Brittany nods and when Santana looks at her, she sees the sad worry in her eyes again. “I’m just gonna miss you, is all…” she says. “We haven’t been apart in five days and I’m worried that it’s not real or—or me going back to school is going to burst this bubble and like—”

 

Santana cuts her off with a kiss. It’s possibly too indecent a reaction to Brittany’s words but when Brittany spins her around and presses her to the counter, she doesn’t really care.

 

“I have an idea…” Santana says when they pull apart. Brittany is panting and preoccupied. “Do you think you can get yourself home today?” she asks and when Brittany nods she grins. “Well, how about I don’t come meet you from school and instead, I wait here and make you dinner. And how about, when you get back, you’ll find me in my finest dirty girl underwear and we don’t eat that dinner?” Brittany’s mouth turns up and she bites her lip. When she nods, Santana can already see how eager she’s trying to not be. “Okay, good.”

 

And it is good… especially when Brittany pins her against the wall before they leave for the subway and especially when Brittany shoves the sandwich Santana brings her for lunch into her backpack before dragging her into the nearest bathroom and fucking her too quickly in one of the stalls. Santana keeps her promise and she’s wearing barely there, completely pointless underwear when Brittany gets home. Her fingers are already rubbing at her center and Brittany manages to undress herself for the first time since she hurt herself to get to her.

 

But Santana doesn’t mention it. She’s too busy groaning into Brittany’s mouth.

 

//

 

She’s going through the paper looking for jobs when Kurt calls her on Tuesday morning. It’s all waitressing and copygirl stuff and there’s not much for her to circle her red pen around. She almost regrets wasting her money on paying for the paper and she’s never been gladder to hear from Kurt.

 

“Are we on for tonight?” Kurt asks her when she mumbles out a ‘hey, bitch’ in greeting. “Rachel wants to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.”

 

It takes Santana a second to realize what he’s talking about but then she remembers that it’s Tuesday and that means it’s movie night. Her mouth opens to speak but she finds she can’t find an answer. Part of her wants to blow them off but there’s also a part of her that reminds her that this is what she’s wanted since Brittany moved here. She can’t think of anything better than snuggling up with Brittany and watching old movies after months of sitting on opposite ends of the couch. She can’t think of anything better than grossing out their friends as they whisper and kiss the whole night.

 

It decides it for her easily and she lets out a “yeah, of course” without another thought.

 

“Fabulous,” Kurt drawls. “I’ll let Rachel and Blaine know. What time does Britt finish class this semester?”

 

“Uh, she finishes at 5:45,” Santana reels off from memory. “But you guys can get here at six like you usually do. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“I’ll bring food and wine and make us a feast,” Kurt says agreeably, like that’s not what he does every Tuesday while Rachel and Brittany argue over what they’re going to watch. “Ask Brittany if there’s anything special she wants.”

 

“Will do,” Santana says even as something flutters in her chest because he’s never asked her that before. Suddenly, the fact that Kurt always turns up to their apartment with a box of dots makes sense. “See you later.”

 

“Bye bitch,” Kurt sighs and Santana laughs.

 

//

 

Kurt and Rachel are in the kitchen, arguing over dinner, when Brittany gets back from school. Her blonde hair is curled at the ends from the damp air and her cheeks are rosy red as she drops her bags to the floor and shrugs off her coat. She’s chewing gum and she grins at Santana when she sees her sitting on the couch waiting for her, jerking her head to the kitchen as she rolls her eyes at their friends.

 

She steps over to her quietly, bending down over the back of the couch to give her a lingering kiss. She plucks at the NYU sweatshirt Santana’s wearing and strokes her hair before taking the glass of wine that Santana holds up for her.

 

She sips it slowly and doesn’t argue when Santana reaches around her to take off her sling. She groans a little and Santana already knows that she’s already missing the painkillers that she finished this morning.

 

“How long have they been in there?” Brittany whispers as Santana tugs her until she’s snuggled into her.

 

Santana curls Brittany’s hair around her finger before speaking, “About twenty minutes,” Santana tells her. “They’ve been arguing over the inconsiderate nature of beef wellington for the last nineteen.”

 

“Oh, how I’ve missed them,” Brittany giggles and Santana kisses the side of her head before kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and turning on the TV.

 

When they hear a crash, Santana decides that’s enough.

 

“Hey!” she shouts. “If you two don’t start behaving yourselves, then I’m gonna be forced to order some freaking pizza and not give you any.”

 

They both try to push each other as they leave the kitchen, shouting a tirade of nonsense that Santana doesn’t want to hear.

 

Rachel’s still talking when Kurt realizes that Brittany’s home. It stops him as he offers her a quick hello and Rachel soon follows.

 

“I’m hungry,” Brittany says and adds a pout. “What’s for dinner?”

 

They both return to the kitchen a couple of minutes later to make Brittany beef wellington and mashed potatoes.

 

//

 

It’s not until they’re eating dinner and watching _Some Like It Hot_ that Santana broaches what she’s wanted to ask since Kurt and Rachel arrived.

 

“Where’s Blaine?” she asks and notices instantly how Kurt balks at the question. She probably should have broached this subject on Saturday night when Kurt was too far-gone on cocktails to care. It probably would have been easier but her suspicion had only been a feeling then, something she was sure was probably in her imagination.

 

She knows that it has nothing to do with her imagination when Rachel diverts her eyes down to her plate. Brittany looks at her from her spot on the floor between Santana’s legs before turning around to look at Santana. She gives her a look that silently asks Santana if she knows what she’s doing and she must get her answer because she quickly turns to Kurt and watches him carefully.

 

When Kurt doesn’t answer despite the attention, Santana smiles worriedly and takes a quick bite of her dinner.

 

“Something wrong?” she asks even though the question is kind of redundant now.

 

Rachel turns her head to Kurt beside her and Santana feels something momentarily bloom in her chest when Brittany’s hand drops from where it holds her fork to wrap around Santana’s ankle. Santana plays with the collar of Brittany’s shirt and waits for Kurt to answer.

 

If he gets to be a hard-ass to her, then that should work the other way around too.

 

“Do you want me to tell them?” Rachel whispers to Kurt but he shakes his head and leans forward to put his plate on the coffee table.

 

He clasps his hands together, biding his time or hoping that Santana will give up except she doesn’t. She waits and when he looks at her with glassy eyes, she knows that it’s bad.

 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts. “Blaine cheated on me,” he says as clear as day and Santana doesn’t move but Brittany gasps and turns to search out Santana’s reaction. “Again. In fact, Blaine cheated on me more than once and he’s probably cheating on me again right now because he’s gone out drinking with those dumbass friends of his and he can’t keep it in his pants once he’s had a vodka cranberry!”

 

He trails off and lifts his eyes to Santana. She wants to be mad but all she can do is feel sad. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Kurt laughs and sighs at the same time. “Because you’re probably going to kill him and right now I kind of want you to even though I promised him I’d think about it before I broke up with him,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders like it doesn’t matter. “And because it’s whatever. It says more about me than it does about him that I took back a cheater and he cheated on me again.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Brittany quickly cuts in and Santana looks down at her before she pushes the empty plate in front of her forward before attempting to heft herself up onto the couch. Santana helps her and Brittany mostly ends up in her lap but they don’t make to move. “The fact that Blaine cheated on you once, won you back and then fucking cheated on you again says more about him that it does you. All it says about you is that you’re a fair person. What it says about him is that he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you.”

 

Kurt and Rachel stare at Brittany in shock but Santana just lifts her arm so that she can stroke the ends of Brittany’s hair as Brittany keeps talking.

 

“And you should want to kill him,” she says. “You should want to cut off his balls and throw them off the Brooklyn Bridge because he made you a promise and he lied his ass off.” She shoots them all a separate look. “And that’s not cool.”

 

Kurt narrows his eyes in wonder at her and Rachel just stares with her mouth open in shock. Santana giggles with pride and Brittany looks at them all in confusion. Santana wants to kiss her but she can’t; it’d be inappropriate and unfeeling.

 

“Where the hell did _you_ come from?” Kurt mutters and Rachel nods dumbly in agreement.

 

Brittany frowns in even further confusion and looks to Santana for understanding. Santana just curls Brittany’s hair around her fingers and sips from her wine.

 

“That’s my girl,” she mutters eventually. “She let New York make her mean.”

 

//

 

They’re all a little tipsy by the time they get to _How To Marry a Millionaire_.

 

Except for Kurt—Kurt is well and truly smashed.

 

They’re on bottle of wine number four—or maybe five—and they’ve been through the story of how Kurt found incriminating texts on Blaine’s phone and confronted him about it. Kurt’s head is still in Rachel’s lap from the first time, when he cried tears that were more frustrated than upset and both Brittany and Santana gave him expletive-ridden tirades about how Blaine doesn’t deserve him.

 

None of them are watching the movie now. Kurt’s been giggling and gossiping with Rachel about some guy that’s been paying her too much attention during one of their classes while she swears it’s nothing. Brittany and Santana have been spooning under their blanket since before that and it’s nice.

 

It’s been a long time since they weren’t alone in a room and whispering things they shouldn’t to each other. Santana tries to keep a straight face even as Brittany teases her, holding the fingers of Brittany’s good hand as it scratches gently beneath her shirt. She wants to kick Kurt and Rachel out on their ass but she already knows it’s going to be one of those nights where they end up sleeping on their couches.

 

They’re making out slowly when that point is proven.

 

Rachel lets out a snore as she jolts herself awake and Kurt’s giggle is sleepy and bored before his eyes flutter closed again.

 

Brittany gives her a nudge and they both get up slowly. Santana lets go of Brittany’s hand to go and fetch them some blankets from the hall closet but stops when she realizes something.

 

“Hey, you guys,” she says, tapping them both on the shoulders. Rachel jolts awake again with a start and a randomly shouted “Barbra Streisand!” and it should be weirder than it is. She furrows her brow at Santana before becoming confused. Brittany reaches out to grab Santana’s hand and Santana takes it happily. “You guys can go sleep in the spare bed if you want. It’s warmer and you might have to kick Tubbs out but he won’t mind.”

 

Kurt groans. “I’m not sleeping in there,” he yawns. “You’ve probably had sex in it.”

 

Santana chuckles and barely blushes. “If we’re working by that standard then you need to get your ass up off that couch and you probably shouldn’t have eaten off this coffee table…”

 

It takes them both a moment before they both realize what Santana said and jump up.

 

Brittany gives them both a roll of her eyes and a smile. “The sheets are clean and there’s a thing of new toothbrushes in the cabinet. My old alarm clock is in there too if you have to be anywhere early tomorrow.”

 

They nod and Santana wraps an arm around Brittany as she watches them disappear inside and close the door. Brittany spins from her once it clicks and pulls on her arm to drag her to the bedroom.

 

She bites her bottom lip and Santana can already tell that they’re going to mentally scar their best friends. She kicks their bedroom door closed and lets Brittany’s hand go when she gives it a squeeze. Santana watches her silently as she undresses herself before lying back on the bed and spreading her legs.

 

“Have at me,” she whispers and Santana doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

//

 

Brittany doesn’t have class until the afternoon but they agreed they’d go and do their laundry. They’re up early and the door to their new spare bedroom is closed when they wake up.

 

Brittany puts _Good Morning America_ on mute and listens to the radio while Santana gets a start on breakfast. She wears Brittany’s sweatpants and her NYU t-shirt that she grabbed from the floor before going to the store. Mr. Broadsky had given her a knowing smile that she’d glared at him for and handed her the stuff she needed to make breakfast without another word.

 

She feels weirdly domestic making breakfast as she watches Brittany organize their laundry into two piles. Her hair is piled messily atop her head and the huge button-up she wears is fastened all wrong but she looks ridiculously cute. The fingers of her broken wrist scratch her nose and she gives Santana a knowing smile when she catches her looking.

 

“Why’d you let me drink so much last night?” Kurt says as he emerges from the bedroom. His shirt is tucked out of his pants and he has huge bags under his eyes. Rachel follows after him and ducks around the corner to the bathroom without anyone really seeing her.

 

Santana stirs eggs in a bowl and gives him a half-sympathetic smile.

 

“Because you needed it,” she tells him once he steps inside the kitchen. She pours the eggs into the pan at the same time she reaches over to grab the coffee pot. She hands it to him and he groans gratefully. It makes her smile. “Eggs for breakfast, okay?”

 

He nods as he pours creamer into his coffee and sips from one of the bottled waters she left on the kitchen table beside the aspirin. Rachel appears a few moments later, looking like the walk of shame. Santana has to try really hard not to laugh at the irony.

 

“Can I have some—” she begins to ask before Santana reaches over and passes her the cup on the counter.

 

“Tea,” she tells her as Rachel hums in thanks. “Also got you some tofurkey. Don’t complain because that’s all they had. You can raid the fridge for whatever else you want.”

 

“Thank you,” Rachel says as she gets up and disappears into the fridge.

 

It feels weird to have so many people in their apartment after days of it only being them but it makes Santana feel happy in the weirdest way. Brittany tugs on the bottom of her shirt as she steps into the kitchen to steal away the dirty dish towels and gives her a just-because kiss on the way out.

 

When she comes back a few moments later, she washes her one good hand before wrapping it placing it beneath Santana’s shirt. The cold makes her jolt a little but when Brittany is pressing a kiss to her neck she can’t be mad.

 

“Love you,” Brittany whispers and it’s already the third time that day.

 

Santana turns her head and kisses her quickly because it still makes her tingle all over.

 

“Love you back,” she whispers, happy to see Brittany grin in response.

 

//

 

 

 

 


	7. Promises

Promises

“I doubt it, Britt,” she says as they exit the subway downtown and head for the hospital.

 

They’re bundled up in coats and sweaters against the harsh sting of the wind. It snowed again last night but now it’s so much colder. Santana protectively holds Brittany’s right hand to keep her safe and it feels weirdly nicer to be here than the last time.

 

“You never know,” Brittany says. “I could have magical bones that fix right away. I could be out of this stupid bandage and doing naughty, naughty things to you by this afternoon.”

 

She’s about to respond when Brittany’s grip tightens and her hand tugs to lead Santana down an alley. She presses herself back against the wall and pulls Santana to her until they fit against each other. Santana groans quietly into the kiss that finds her mouth and tries to ignore the way that Brittany’s hand curls around her backside.

 

“Cut it out,” she mutters quietly as their smiles press together. Brittany laughs happily against her and tugs her closer until Santana’s leg presses between her own. She kisses her sloppily until Santana pulls away with a warning bite to her bottom lip. Brittany pouts but Santana refrains from giving into her. The fear of getting caught for Public Indecency is too much.

 

“ _Stop_ it.” She says as Brittany flips them and presses her back against the wall. “Or we’ll be late.”

 

Brittany nibbles on her bottom lip and smiles. “But we’re early…”

 

“My point exactly,” Santana says as she shifts away and pulls Brittany back onto the street. “C’mon.”

 

//

 

They’re forty-five minutes early for Brittany’s appointment and the hospital is quiet when they get inside. Brittany leads Santana to the department Edie had instructed them to go to and gives them her name to check in. They tell her she’s early and Brittany nods as she explains that they’re here to see Edie. The woman brightens at the mention of Edie’s name and asks if they’re friends.

 

Santana lies, nodding until the woman tells them to wait where they are while she calls through to see if she’s here.

 

They have their arms around each other when Edie eventually arrives around the corner from the ER. Their noses are squashed together for no other reason than they want them to and they talk to each other about everything and nothing before Santana notices the familiar dirty blond hair over Brittany’s shoulder. Edie’s eyebrows rise the minute she sees them and she’s chuckling to herself as she steps closer. Santana feels her cheeks pink and pulls Brittany just a little closer to feel safe.

 

It takes Edie pressing a hand to Brittany’s shoulder for Brittany to notice her and Santana watches the shock in Edie’s face as Brittany smiles and says hello.

 

“Wow,” she says around a laugh. “Somebody’s changed their tune from the last time they were here.”

 

The words make Brittany’s smile fall into one of guilt. She opens her mouth to apologize but Edie just shakes her head and rubs her arm. She looks between them before glancing at Santana with a little grin.

 

“That was quicker than expected,” she mutters and Santana ignores Brittany’s confused expression to smile widely.

 

She shrugs and tightens her arms around Brittany. “Yeah,” she whispers. “How’d you—”

 

“I’ve been around the block,” Edie tells her. “You see a lot of stuff in this place. All kinds of shit goes on here, but I could tell from the way that you looked at her when she was hurting to the way that she cried when we kicked you out of the room.” She glances at Brittany who seems to have understood what they’re talking about and averted her gaze. “It’s obvious when people hate each other… but it’s more obvious when two people are so crazy about each other that they’ve actually gone a little bit crazy.”

 

She holds her fingers up, thumb and forefinger spaced a tiny way apart, to demonstrate her point. Santana smiles and Brittany shyly buries her face in her shoulder. Edie laughs at them like they’re more adorable than annoying and rubs Brittany’s back.

 

“When’s your appointment?” she asks and Santana just hands her the appointment card she’d given them last week. She eyes it and then looks to the woman behind the counter. “He’s in the gym, isn’t he?” The woman nods and Edie shakes her head. “Fucking idiot,” she mutters. “Call Jennie and get her down here and tell her it’s for the cute lady lovers from last week.”

 

She looks back to Brittany and Santana and finds Santana smirking at her. “‘The cute lady lovers from last week’?” she repeats.

 

Edie rolls her eyes. “Her words, not mine.”

 

//

 

Jennie is the red-haired doctor who reset Brittany’s arm last week. She smiles just as much as Edie did when she sees them and makes this ridiculous noise of approval when Brittany lets Santana help her up onto the bed.

 

“Well, well, well,” she says slipping a pair of glasses onto her nose. “I just knew you kids would figure yourselves out. Let’s take a look at that arm.”

 

Santana helps the doctor to remove Brittany’s coat, then her sweater, and then the button-up she has over her purple NYU t-shirt.

 

“What’re you studying?” she asks and Brittany looks down at her shirt before answering.

 

“Oh. Photography and imaging at Tisch,” she winces as Dr. Jennie starts to examine her arm.

 

Dr. Jennie nods. “I went to med school at NYU,” she says as she touches Brittany’s fingers. “Go Bobcats.”

 

Brittany nods and winces, her discomfort obvious. “Is it better?” she asks even though it’s very clear it isn’t. Jennie unravels the bandages from around her arm and pries the plaster splint from around her elbow and wrist. Brittany squeaks when Dr. Jennie holds her arm to support it. “Ouch.”

 

“Your wrist is still a little swollen,” Jennie tells her as she lets her thumb run over the bones in Brittany’s wrist. “I’m not really surprised by that because we had to really get in there to put it back in place.” Brittany grits her teeth and reaches for Santana’s hand as the doctor finishes examining her, slipping a sling around her arm to keep it secure. “We’ll give you another X-ray and then I think we’ll put you in another splint for five more days, depending on whether or not your bones have continued to remain in place.”

 

She smiles and writes something on Brittany’s chart before leaving the room with Edie. Brittany watches her leave before turning to Santana, shocked by the sudden pain she feels.

 

“So, these magic bones you’ve got…” Santana teases as she brushes Brittany’s hair from her eyes.

 

Brittany pouts at her.

 

“Shuddup,” she mumbles.

 

When she leans forward to rest her head against Santana’s shoulder, all Santana does is chuckle and wrap an arm around her.

 

//

 

Santana helps Brittany back home an hour and a half later. She’s a little high on the low dose of morphine they had to give her when they were reapplying the splint and, instead of making her puke like last time, it makes her a little cute and dopey. She’s way happier than she should be that she got the stitches in her elbow out.

 

She falls asleep on the subway with a ridiculous grin on her face. She should be in class but when Dr. Jennie had frowned when she told her that and said “I don’t think so,” Brittany had called a classmate to ask them to let their professor know.

 

She brings Brittany with her when she goes for her pre-work nap. She strips her down to her purple NYU shirt and underwear and forces her onto her back so that she can lift her arm above her. She falls asleep quickly and easily and Santana knows that she’s smiling as she falls asleep.

 

She wakes up with Brittany’s hand up the back of her shirt, stroking her skin even though she’s still asleep. Their legs are tangled and Santana doesn’t want to leave her, not for a second.

 

Santana’s never really seen herself as the kind of person with a regular day job. Her nine-to-five day is 9pm to 5am. She used to love the bar before Brittany got here. She used to think she was meant for sleeping all day and working all night except now she kind of wants the opposite. She wants to be able to work while Brittany’s at school doing something interesting and then for them to come home to each other before making dinner and watching crappy TV. She wants free weekends and to not be randomly asked to work a shift when all she wants to do is sleep. She wants to do something that might mean she has a future.

 

She wants to do something that will make a future for her and Brittany.

 

She cuddles herself closer, resting her head on Brittany’s chest to listen to her heart beat steadily in her chest. It’s soothing and it sends her back to sleep and when she wakes up again, it’s to the sound of the TV in her room and to Brittany stroking through her hair.

 

Brittany doesn’t say anything, even as Santana slowly wakes up. She just keeps stroking and kissing her hair as Santana slowly lets her body acclimate to consciousness. Their legs are still tangled together and it’s warm.

 

“I don’t want to go to work,” Santana whispers against her shoulder.

 

Brittany presses a lingering kiss to her forehead and says nothing.

 

It makes her feel worse.

 

//

 

It’s quiet at work and that makes everything worse. It’s only her, Lil and one of the new girls that’s shy and quiet. Santana spends most of the night sitting on a stool in the corner of the bar playing with her phone. She gets up and sings but nobody seems interested.

 

Lil wipes down glasses alongside her and when she sighs for about the four hundredth time in the last half an hour, the woman throws a bottle cap at her head.

 

“Would you smile, please?” she asks. Santana turns to her and sighs but doesn’t do as she asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

Santana shrugs. “Nothing,” she says. “I just… I’m worried about Britt.”

 

Lil laughs and stacks begins to stack the shelves in the fridges beneath the bar. “That’s bullshit, Lopez,” she says. “You’re bored.”

 

When Santana doesn’t say anything, Lil sighs and moves to stand beside her. She puts one of the beers in front of her and opens it.

 

“It’s okay to want to do more than this,” Lil tells her around a laugh and when Santana looks at her in nervous confusion, Lil shakes her head. “I spoke to Brittany the other night and she might have mentioned your job search. I think it’s a good idea and I’ll help you any way I can, just let me know.” Santana looks at her dubiously and Lil nudges her. “I meant it when I said you’re too good for this bar, you know? You’re one of the good ones. I haven’t had many girls who’ve come in here and jumped on the bar straight away.”

 

That makes Santana laugh and she shrugs, peeling the label from her beer out of habit. “I don’t know, Lil,” she says. “I’ve been looking for something for months now and I’ve heard nothing back. And I _really_ don’t want to be some office clerk.” She sighs and shrugs. “Maybe I should just go back to college.”

 

“And do what?” Lil asks around a scoff. Santana shrugs. “Just stick it out,” she says. “Your job will be here until you find something.”

 

Santana groans. “But I feel bad leaving Brittany alone three nights a week. Everything’s all new and she’s already gone back to school and I feel like we should be doing more but I have to sleep when we should be finding our feet.”

 

Lil snorts and shakes her head. “You two do not need to find your feet. Your feet have been found and that’s why you don’t want to be here. You want to be back at your apartment, naked with your girlfriend. And I understand that, but you’re a grown up, Little Lopez. You gotta bring home the bacon.”

 

“I still feel bad,” she whispers.

 

“You’re a smart girl,” Lil says, slapping her on the back. “Make it up to her.”

 

//

 

She gets the subway home and spends the whole ride home thinking of something special she can do. It’s freezing cold and snowing when she walks home from the subway but the apartment is toasty warm when she gets inside.

 

She kicks off her boots and coat and finds Brittany spread out in the middle of their bed when she gets back. Santana strips to her underwear and steps over to the bed to pull back the covers.

 

Her breath catches in her throat when she finds Brittany completely naked. A hunger and longing throbs within her and she doesn’t even pause before she climbs over her and presses kisses into her breastbone and the dip of her diaphragm. It makes Brittany’s breath catch but doesn’t wake her up so she keeps kissing down her stomach, over her hips, before parting her legs and settling between them.

 

Brittany’s breath hitches when Santana takes one, long lick through her center but returns to its same sleepy rhythm when she pulls back. Santana looks up at her before pulling her legs until they’re over her shoulders and burying her tongue inside of her. She thrusts it steadily, her thumb coming up to sweep over her clit and it takes longer than it should before Brittany grunts into alertness, her hand reaching down to tangle in Santana’s hair in shock as her back arches.

 

“Good morning,” Santana pulls back to say, glad when Brittany just moans in response. Nails scratch over Brittany’s ass as she resumes her actions and it doesn’t take long before Brittany’s going rigid and bucking up into her once more. Santana lets her hand continue to stroke Brittany as she kisses her way up to her mouth.

 

Brittany sucks Santana’s tongue into her mouth and hums at the taste. Her hand roams her body and when she pulls back, she’s the most beautiful mix of sleepy and aroused.

 

“I missed you,” she whispers and Santana feels a pang in her chest as Brittany continues to kiss her. “I missed you a lot,” she breathes, just to make her point.

 

Santana lets her fingers move slowly, swallowing the gasps Brittany begins to release.

 

“I’m here now,” she mutters as Brittany’s hips shift beneath her. “I’m here now.”

 

//

 

Santana’s only just woke up when Brittany comes home from school. The door opens and Santana looks up from where she sits to watch Brittany as she drops all her bags to the floor before locking the door behind her. Her coat gets dropped there too and Santana knows what’s wrong before she can even realize.

 

Brittany walks with a wince and her hand covers her tummy. She doesn’t speak to Santana as she turns the corner and into the bathroom but Santana doesn’t need her to. She gets up and moves into the kitchen, putting their tea kettle onto the stove before finding Brittany’s tea and the hot water bottle. Brittany’s still in the bathroom by the time it’s boiled and Santana sets both things on the coffee table before getting Brittany’s towel and the blanket. She sets them both down on the couch and when Brittany emerges from the bathroom with tear-stained cheeks, Santana hates it.

 

Brittany collapses down onto the other couch while Santana fusses over the one she usually sits on. She curls into a ball and Santana doesn’t hesitate before leaving her to go grab her some more comfortable clothes. She urges her to sit up and uses her thumbs to wipe Brittany’s face. Brittany looks hurt and hopeless as Santana starts dragging her jeans down her legs. She’s glad that Brittany’s in comfy underwear and when Brittany shakes her head as she holds out the sweatpants, she doesn’t argue and tosses them aside.

 

Brittany does let her change her into a comfy t-shirt and lets her pull her onto the other couch. She curls up into a ball as Santana moves around the room, closing the drapes and putting on _Finding Nemo_ for her. She makes sure that all the locks are on the door and slips in behind Brittany before handing her the hot water bottle.

 

She puts it on her back and Santana presses her body against it for some pressure until Brittany sighs with the relief it brings.

 

“Hurts,” she whispers just like normal and Santana kisses her forehead before slipping her hand down to her stomach. She presses her fingers in knowingly but when Brittany doesn’t relax even a little bit, she knows that it’s bad.

 

She kisses behind her ear as gently as she can. “Did you take some painkillers?” she asks.

 

Brittany nods her head and when Santana peers over her, her body curled into itself, she finds her crying harder than before.

 

“Oh, baby…” she whispers and curls her arm around Brittany’s neck until she can run the backs of her fingers over Brittany’s cheeks. It makes Brittany’s quiet tears turn into baby soft whimpers. Santana kisses her cheeks and hums soothing sounds into her ear. The fingers of Brittany’s broken arm wrap around her wrist and keep her fingers pressing where they are.

 

“It hurts,” Brittany mumbles as she turns her head to bury it into Santana’s chin. “It really, really hurts… More than normal,” she whimpers. “I even threw up...” she tells Santana like it’s a secret.

 

Santana feels useless, like she has nothing left to give. She’s got hot water bottles and tea and painkillers. She has cuddles and kisses and warm hands but she doesn’t have the ability to take away pain. She thinks back to all the times when they were in high school and she would search the internet for new things to help Brittany when she’d be curled up on her bed like this. She knows that there’s one thing that works for Brittany when she’s alone but she usually waits for Santana to leave before she does that.

 

“Have you tried to…” Santana starts awkwardly but Brittany shakes her head quickly. She takes deep breaths like she doesn’t want the pain to get to that point, like she’s determined for it to go away before she has to reach that last resort. It makes Santana feel bad and she lets her hand slip over the front of Brittany’s underwear before Brittany can stop her. The pressure she puts there instantly makes Brittany sigh in a mixture of relief and shock but she pulls Santana’s hand away regardless.

 

“You—you don’t have to do that,” she whispers when Santana puts her hand back. “I can—”

 

She trails off when Santana laughs despite herself. She looks worried and bites her lips as Santana firmly keeps her hand where it is. Santana kisses Brittany’s neck and sucks softly to preoccupy her.

 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” she whispers as she moves her hand up only to slip it beneath Brittany’s underwear. Her fingers easily find Brittany’s clit and roll it beneath her fingers. Brittany’s breath hitches and Santana feels herself smile in relief. She noses Brittany’s hair from her neck and kisses her skin. “It’s okay…”

 

Brittany gasps. “Maybe we should go the bathroom,” she whispers but she sounds desperate too. “M-maybe I should take a bath.”

 

Santana doesn’t stop. “We can do that after,” she says softly, forming firm circles around Brittany’s clit. She’s warmer than normal; that’s what Santana notices first. She’s more sensitive too—her hand reaches to grab at Santana’s wrist when she presses too hard. “I don’t mind.”

 

“You—You shouldn’t have to do this if you don’t—if you don’t want to,” Brittany grits out and Santana can tell that she’s trying not to moan. “I can just do what I used to do. I—I could go to the bathroom or I could go use the other room or I can—” She trails off into a shuddering moan. “I don’t expect you to—”

 

“Britt, be quiet,” she mumbles into her ear. “You don’t have to do that. I _don’t_ mind doing this,” she reiterates. “I really don’t. I just want to make you feel better.”

 

When Brittany shudders and nods, Santana knows that they’re done talking. Her fingers move smoothly and Brittany starts to let out these soft little moans that she hasn’t really heard before. Her legs soften and part as Santana lifts one over her own thighs. Her entire body is buzzing slowly, completely vulnerable and sensitive. Santana watches her carefully, loving all the differences she can see.

 

She doesn’t want to say that it’s beautiful because it sounds weird but it is. The trust Brittany has in her makes her feel bigger and when Brittany comes it’s longer and harder. It starts slowly and Santana can feel Brittany’s clit throbbing beneath her fingers as the first waves overcome her. She stiffens slowly, delicately. Her body hovers in some in-between place for a long time, her eyes rolling back in her head, before she snaps with slow, hip-rolling shudders that don’t seem to want to stop. She doesn’t gasp or moan but she breathes heavily in relief.

 

There’s no argument when Santana doesn’t stop her fingers. She just keeps them rolling over Brittany’s clit, pressing softer against her until she’s almost teasing the pleasure out of her. Brittany comes again a few moments later with curling toes and a perfect arch in her back. Santana’s shocked when Brittany doesn’t push her away when her fingers still don’t stop.

 

“Really?” she whispers in awe and Brittany just nods desperately. She rolls back into the couch until Santana can barely move. Santana shifts her arm from around Brittany’s neck to around her chest. She keeps hold of her as she rolls onto her back, bringing Brittany to lie atop her. Brittany’s legs fall further apart, one falling off the side of the couch as the other lifts to rest over the back cushions. “Better?

 

Brittany nods even though Santana already knows that. The rocking of Brittany’s backside against her pelvis is rubbing her in just the right way. She ignores it, even as she pants into Brittany’s ear and uses her other hand to push Brittany’s shirt up. The blanket falls around their hips to hide their hands but Santana manages to get the shirt above Brittany’s breasts until she can softly cover them with her hand. Brittany gasps and nods, hips pressing back into Santana’s fingers on her clit. Santana squeezes her chest gently and groans when Brittany turns and reaches behind her to bring their mouths together.

 

The kiss is messy and wet and Santana’s pretty sure that Brittany does it to preoccupy Santana away from the fact that she’s dipping her own hand down to her center to help herself along. Goosebumps prickle over Brittany’s skin and Santana does little more than whimper into Brittany’s mouth.

 

When Brittany comes the third time, it’s neither quiet nor delicate. She still stiffens slowly and her hips rise up away from Santana as a long, loud moan leaves her lips. Santana holds her still as she rides it out. When Brittany shudders hard and groans, Santana can feel all the muscles beneath her fingers pulsating and throbbing. Brittany whimpers over and over again, hips still quivering until they eventually drop into the cradle of Santana’s.

 

She’s completely relaxed and Santana takes her hand away from her clit to rest it comfortingly over the top of her underwear. Brittany breathes easily and Santana feels sleepy as they lay together.

 

“Thank you,” Brittany whispers as she covers Santana’s hand with hers.

 

Santana smiles and reaches down to bring the blanket up over them. She rolls them onto their sides and breathes a sigh of relief when she hears Brittany’s breathing slow a few seconds later.

 

“You’re welcome,” she whispers, even though she’s sure Brittany doesn’t hear.

 

//

 

She feels bad leaving Brittany alone that night.

 

After Brittany woke up, Santana managed to get her in the bath. She was sleepy and Santana sat beside the tub and washed her as Brittany let her hands wander down to work between her legs. Even more than being trusted to do that, it felt better when Brittany let her watch her and she kissed her gently when she came. She wrapped her in a towel and dressed her carefully. Santana made her ramen while she fixed her a fresh hot water bottle and put her in bed before cuddling up to her.

 

Brittany slept in her arms but Santana stayed awake, stroking her back to make her feel safe.

 

When she had to untangle herself from Brittany’s body, she was yet again reminded that her life sucks. She kissed Brittany’s brow and watched as she curled herself around Santana’s pillow the minute Santana was off the bed. She watched her the whole time she was getting ready and it wasn’t until she was about to leave that the urge to stay where she was really overtook her.

 

Because Brittany hurt and she’d cried again before they got to the bathroom. What if she needed her? What if she needed a cuddle? The whole thing makes Santana feel depressed and, like normal, she begins to doubt herself.

 

Because if she’s working this shitty job the rest of her life then how are they supposed to get their future? How’s she supposed to pay for a wedding and a house and fucking kids? How the hell is she supposed to look after kids if she’s at a bar all night? She can’t expect Brittany to do those things by herself. Brittany could, of course, but she shouldn’t have to do that. She should always know that she isn’t alone.

 

With that thought, Santana panics and grabs Tubbs from where he sleeps in front of the radiator. She puts him down on the bed, right next to Brittany’s body and gives him a warning look as she presses a kiss to Brittany’s head.

 

It isn’t until she’s on the subway that she gets an idea and maybe it’s ridiculous and stupid and possibly more hassle than they can handle right now, but it’ll make Brittany happy.

 

She remains glued to her phone the whole way to work and through all her breaks. It’s busier than it was yesterday but she doesn’t care because by the time she leaves work the next morning, her plan has come to fruition.

 

//

 

“Where the heck have you been?” Brittany demands the minute she walks through the door. She’s dressed just as Santana had left her the night before and her hand is clutching her stomach, except she doesn’t think it’s because of the cramp.

 

She looks terrified and Santana suddenly regrets using up all her phone battery on her plan. Her face falls with guilt and she puts the box in her hands by the front door before she steps forward to press a pacifying kiss to Brittany’s lips.

 

And she knows it’s mostly because Brittany’s hormones are assholes right now but she hates herself more than ever when Brittany starts to cry with relief.

 

“I should have called but my phone died,” she says instantly as she wraps her arms around Brittany’s body. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

 

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers against Santana’s mouth as Santana kisses her slowly. “I thought that someone had kidnapped you and dragged you away somewhere and hurt you and—” She trails off and groans in irritation before punching Santana in the arm. “You _suck_ , Lopez!”

 

Santana chuckles as she grabs at her arm and follows Brittany as she paces in front of their TV.

 

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Brittany says, sniffing and tossing her hair angrily from her face. “Next time, I’ll kick your _ass_.”

 

Santana nods. “Okay, baby,” she says. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

 

“You _should_ be,” Brittany agrees. “And you better have a good reason for scaring the crap out of me. And you _better_ make it up to me with like… orgasms. And dinner. And _candy._ ”

 

Santana laughs and shakes her head at Brittany’s adorableness—if you can call it that. She sits on the arm of the couch and watches Brittany mumble and pace for a few more minutes.

 

“I already brought you a present, actually,” Santana says after a moment but Brittany’s too busy getting out whatever’s in her system. Santana rolls her eyes and steps back over to the box before bringing it back to her seat. She listens to Brittany’s threats as she opens the box.

 

“Well, whatever it is isn’t going to make up for this, Santana,” she mumbles and her hands gesticulate everywhere. “I mean, I’m very aware that I’m being a huge hypocrite because I ran out on you—twice—and one of those times I actually got hurt because duh—” She raises her arm in the air and Santana smirks the whole time she’s bundling the tiny thing in the box into her hands and stepping over to her. “But I was mad and you weren’t mad but now I’m mad and—”

 

She trails off when the tiny thing she doesn’t appear to have noticed sitting in Santana’s hands meows at her frantic talking. Instead she gasps and her eyes go wide. Santana feels ridiculously proud of herself as Brittany’s worry transforms into utter joy.

 

“You bought me a _kitten_?!” she squeaks before covering her mouth at the loudness. “You bought me a kitten?” she repeats in a whisper. “A real one?!”

 

Santana giggles and gestures for Brittany to sit down on the couch. She sits on the coffee table in front of her before she holds the tiny ginger kitten out to her.

 

“I _adopted_ a kitten for _us_ ,” Santana corrects as she lets him crawl across Brittany’s lap. “Because this little guy was left all on his own in an alley. And a nice man from a shelter found him and he wasn’t very well and they got him better but nobody wanted him until I went by this morning.” Brittany grins as the kitten wanders around her lap and sniffs at her hand. “Probably because he’s got two different color eyes and he’s blind in one of them but we don’t care, do we?”

 

Brittany shakes her head and lifts the kitten to her face with one hand. She kisses the top of his head. He meows again and Santana slips from the coffee table to the spot beside Brittany. She strokes the kitten’s head and goes silent as she hopefully turns to Brittany.

 

“You found us a kitten,” Brittany whispers as they both rest their heads back against the couch. Santana nods. “Like, he’s ours and stuff.”

 

Santana smiles. “Well, I figured, how am I supposed to trip over our cats if we only have one? It doesn’t make sense and now Tubbs will have someone to keep him company when we’re not here and they can both keep you safe when I’m at work.”

 

Brittany bites her lip and leans forward to press a kiss to Santana’s lips.

 

“What are we going to call him?” she whispers, like she doesn’t want him to hear.

 

Santana glances down before looking at Brittany. “Well, they called him Gus at the shelter.”

 

“That’s cute,” Brittany grins. “But he needs a full name.”

 

She lifts him up to her face and looks at him carefully. His paws grab at Brittany’s nose when she brings him close enough to kiss him again.

 

“He’s like a little pirate,” she says when she sees his cute little half-squint. “Captain Gus,” she giggles, scratching him under his chin. “Captain Augustus Pierce-Lopez.”

 

When she turns to Santana to see her reaction, Santana isn’t really able to do anything except lean forward and kiss her. She kisses her deeply, her tongue teasing in Brittany’s mouth until Gus meows below them. It makes Santana laugh and she looks around to take the kitten from Brittany.

 

“Sorry Gus,” she whispers. “But your moms are gonna do that sometimes.”

 

She turns to Brittany and smiles.

 

“You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

 

//

 

“You’re so whipped,” Kurt tells her on Sunday afternoon, when she’s tired from work and tired from Gus jumping on their faces at all hours of the day and night.

 

She’s half-asleep on their couch with her sixth cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of her. Brittany and Rachel just got back from the pet store and Santana watches out of one eye as Brittany slips a tiny eye-patch over Gus’ head. It’s cute and she finds herself smiling, quietly amused as Brittany squeals at how cute he is before reaching into the bag and pulling out an outfit for Tubbs.

 

Kurt chuckles but Santana doesn’t look away from Brittany, Tubbs and Gus.

 

“So, so whipped,” Kurt says.

 

Santana is too tired and too happy to care.

 

“Fuck you,” she says.

 

Five minutes later, Brittany straddles her and puts Gus on her chest. She strokes him absentmindedly because she can see them being like this ten years from now, except the thing that Santana imagines being placed onto her chest has wispsy blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes.

 

She smiles dreamily and Kurt laughs.

 

//

 

Brittany goes back to the hospital on Tuesday to get her cast put on. Santana meets her from school after her first class and listens to her as she explains to her next professor that she has to go to the doctor. He’s a nice Columbian guy who smiles and jokes with both of them and makes them feel comfortable holding hands in front of him.

 

Edie is smoking a cigarette outside the hospital when they get there. She tosses it aside before gesturing them inside to a room where Dr. Jennie is eating a gross looking hospital cafeteria salad.

 

Santana feels her arm tighten around the bag of _Five Guys_ under her arm because she suddenly feels like a target. They’d expected to wait this time around so they’d brought their lunch with them.

 

But now she’s in a treatment room and Dr. Jennie is looking at her like she’s the second coming of Christ.

 

“Are you guys hungry?” Brittany asks when she sees them both eyeing the bag. “Because I got extra, if you want it.”

 

Santana loves and hates Brittany all at once.

 

//

 

Her new cast is dark blue and she grins at Santana the minute that it’s on as she happily flexes her fingers and does a little dance just for the hell of it. Edie and Jennie both laugh as Jennie finishes up Brittany’s paperwork.

 

“I call first signature,” Edie says, pulling a Sharpie from her scrub pocket. She tugs Brittany forward and turns her palm over. She scribbles something small and when Santana looks over Brittany’s shoulder, she sees a number. “That’s my cell. Call me if you girls need anything, okay?” They look at her curiously. “I got a daughter your age,” she reveals. “She’s a complete pain in the ass and I guess you two remind me of her. Plus, you make me nervous out here on your own.”

 

“Thanks, Edie,” Brittany says as she leans forward to embrace her.

 

Santana nods in agreement. “Yeah, thanks.”

 

They both get up to leave and Santana awkwardly hugs Edie as Brittany thanks Dr. Jennie.

 

“If you’re ever in the ER,” Jennie says. “Just ask them to call me and, depending on whether or not I’m saving the life of someone else, I’ll come give you a hand.”

 

They both nod and Santana feels weirdly like a child again for some reason.

 

“Also, don’t forget that your cast is to come off in six weeks and you’ll need to come back for an X-ray,” Edie tells them as she hands them a slip of paper. “Also, don’t forget to make sure that cut on your elbow stays clean.”

 

“I will,” Brittany says.

 

Santana nods. “And I’ll make sure she does.”

 

Edie gives them a smile and then nudges them both away. “Get out of here,” she says. “You’ve got movie night to get to.”

 

“You can come if you want,” Brittany says with a shrug.

 

Edie laughs. “I’m working till midnight.”

 

“Maybe another time then,” Santana says as they walk away.

 

She’s sure she hears Edie mutter a “yeah, maybe,” as they leave.

 

//

 

When Brittany drags her through the door and presses her up against it with a renewed desperation, Santana figures pretty quickly that this new cast is going to mean brilliant things.

 

She laughs the whole time that Brittany’s stripping them down to their underwear and doesn’t stop until she’s pushed her backwards onto the couch. Brittany collapses atop of her with no pain or wincing and Santana lets her hand tangle in blonde hair as the other reaches out for a blanket to cover them.

 

It feels so much better with Brittany on top of her and she grabs at Brittany’s ass through her underwear as Brittany’s fingers slip underneath her own. She’s got her legs wrapped around Brittany’s waist and Brittany’s about to go three fingers thick inside of her when someone knocks at the door. They’re sweaty and moaning desperately and it goes unspoken that they’re going to ignore it. It’s not time for Rachel and Kurt to arrive yet and anyone else can fuck off.

 

The door opens when Santana’s desperately whining her orgasm into Brittany’s mouth. She barely even notices because she’s too swept up in the pleasure of being stretched by Brittany’s fingers but she eventually hears the screaming and Brittany’s ridiculous laughter.

 

“Oh my god. We’re so sorry— So sorry,” Rachel shouts as Kurt screams. “We didn’t think you’d be here!”

 

Santana’s still panting for breath when Brittany stops laughing enough to talk to them. She shakes her head and rests her cheek against Santana’s shoulder as she turns to look at them. Her lithe fingers are still buried deep inside of her.

 

“Just go,” she laughs uncontrollably. “Just—get out of here,” she laughs. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

 

The door slams and Brittany’s still giggling when Santana manages to lift her palm to her forehead and breathe only a little normally.

 

“Did that really just happen?” she pants, dying quietly when Brittany nods and laughs into her neck. She’s already sporadically kissing Santana’s chest and her fingers haven’t moved. Santana doesn’t mention it. “Did you really just tell them we weren’t _done_ yet?” she asks and feels a laugh bubble from her.

 

Brittany looks up at her and Santana gasps when she starts moving her fingers, daring her to put a stop to this. Brittany hits that spot deep inside of her and that’s enough to unravel all of her resolve.

 

“Screw it,” she says eventually, neck arching and eyes rolling. “They already think it’s happening anyway.”

 

//

 

Kurt and Rachel come back with liquor. Lots of liquor…

 

Kurt sits on the couch they didn’t just desecrate and sips on margaritas with a hand covering his eyes.

 

“I feel uncomfortable being here,” he mutters. “And I feel uncomfortable that I brought the ingredients to make tacos.”

 

Brittany snorts into her drink and quickly tries to hide the laughter. Santana smirks and Rachel gives them both a reproachful look of warning. She appears to care less that she walked in on lesbian sex than Kurt does. She looks more worried about the mortification that sits plainly on his face.

 

“Like, seeing Santana naked is not something particularly new,” he laments quietly as _My Fair Lady_ quietly plays in the background. “I mean, we used to live together. I saw both Rachel and Santana in some state of undress on more than one occasion.”

 

Santana glares at him from where she reclines between Brittany’s legs. She’s wearing a t-shirt and underwear that Brittany threw to her when she got up to call their friends but has forgone anything else, just like Brittany did. They’ve been hiding their legs under the blanket since Kurt and Rachel arrived and didn’t even bother to fix their hair.

 

“But to see Santana during… in the throes of… To see her having an—”

 

“Orgasm?” Brittany offers helpfully.

 

Kurt winces. “It’s a lot to process.”

 

Santana clicks her tongue and feels offended. “Thanks,” she complains, hurt. “What’s wrong with me having an orgasm?”

 

Kurt shudders. Rachel looks between them all, petting Gus quietly in her lap.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she says diplomatically. “I’m sure it was quite nice.”

 

“Nice?” Brittany snorts. “Did it look _nice_ , to you? Mind-blowing, maybe. Nice? Pft.”

 

“It _was_ mind-blowing, baby,” Santana whispers softly up to her. “Better than that, even.”

 

Brittany kisses her on the nose. “I know,” she says brightly. “I was trying to be modest.”

 

“I’m going to be sick,” Kurt groans.

 

“That’s offensive,” Brittany and Santana say at the same time.

 

“Maybe we should go make dinner,” Rachel says to him.

 

She stands up and puts Gus back in his bed with Lord Tubbington. They instantly snuggle up together and fall asleep.

 

Santana snorts and watches as Kurt and Rachel disappear to the kitchen.

 

“When he gets drunk and has to stay here tonight,” Santana says. “We’re having sex really loudly.”

 

Brittany leans up and kisses her. Her tongue slips into Santana’s mouth easily and she doesn’t need to be told to turn around in Brittany’s arms. It makes her feel warm all over and when it makes Kurt scream ten minutes later, that’s even better.

 

//

 

When Kurt scoffs because they’re doing little more than holding hands and cuddling on the couch, Santana gets mad.

 

She sits up and pauses the movie before turning to Kurt and shaking her head. He gives her an annoyed look and it just makes her feel more mad at him. He constantly keeps looking down his nose at them and she’s sick of it. He did it last week and he did it on Sunday and it’s not fair.

 

“What is your problem?” she asks as calmly as she can, looking at Kurt through the half-dark of the room. She’s glad when Brittany reaches around to turn on the lamp. “I don’t know if this is a Blaine thing or a you thing or if you’re just not used to us yet but you need to get over it, okay?”

 

Kurt looks at her shocked and offended. He presses a hand to his chest but Santana goes on regardless.

 

“If it’s something to do with Blaine then I’m sorry. I’m sorry but you can’t keep treating us like this because it’s not fair.” Brittany presses a hand to her back from behind her and it gives her the courage to go on. “This is our home, Kurt. You can’t sit here in our safe place and scoff at us for acting how we would be if you weren’t here. You can’t sit here and be pissed off at us because you barged into our home and caught us doing something that we’re old enough to do.” She laughs uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t be sitting on our couch, muttering to Rachel that we should be putting every single lock and chain on our front door if we don’t want people to walk in on us.”

 

“I didn’t—” Kurt starts but Santana holds up a hand to stop him. He looks around at Rachel for support but she just blinks and stares back at him.

 

“Kurt, we heard you say it,” Santana says as calmly as she can. “And we should not have to do that. When I gave you a key to our apartment it was to be used when we gave you permission to use it. I mean, I don’t come to the loft and let myself in anymore. I wait for permission.” She shakes her head as Kurt stares off into the distance. “And Kurt, I love you okay? Brittany loves you. You’re our best friend but you can’t act this way hoping that it might make us behave differently. It’s not fair. This is our home and we want you to be comfortable but we expect you to allow us that courtesy too.”

 

The room lapses into silence and all three women look at Kurt, watching him as he shakes his head. They can all tell he’s trying to come up with something to say but before he can, Rachel speaks.

 

“He doesn’t just do it here,” Rachel says gently, too gently for Rachel. “He does it at home too.” She sits up and takes Kurt’s hand before looking at Brittany and Santana. “I’ve been texting that guy from my class and every single time he hears my phone go off he says something negative about it.” She turns to Kurt then. “And I know that it’s got something to do with Blaine but you need to stop, okay? You can’t make everyone else unhappy just because you’re hurting.”

 

Kurt shakes his head and that’s when Santana sees the tears welling in his eyes. She shifts closer and takes his hand without thinking. He grips it tightly and Santana feels Brittany shuffling up behind her to see him better.

 

Kurt shrugs and the laugh that leaves him is bitter and full of sadness.

 

“He proposed to me,” he explains and, as he begins to cry, Santana feels everything change.

 

//

 

He’s got Rachel on one side of him and Brittany on the other. Rachel holds his hand and Brittany strokes his hair while Santana pours him shots of tequila. His cheeks are puffy, his eyes are red, and Santana has never wanted to murder Blaine Anderson more.

 

“You know we spoke on New Years’ Eve?” Kurt says to her as he knocks back another shot. Santana takes a sideways glance at Brittany before nodding. “Well, after that I went and found him downstairs at the party and he looked kind of weird then. He took my hand and he took me out into the yard and proposed to me.” Santana pours him another shot. “And even then, I didn’t _know_ , you know?”

 

He looks at Santana and she nods in understanding as she remembers their conversation that night. Both Rachel and Brittany give her a look that she quickly shakes her head at.

 

“I didn’t know if I wanted to say yes but I just said it anyway because I thought he’d changed,” he sniffs. “He’d done so much and then when everyone left he kissed me so slowly and I thought _yeah, okay, maybe_ and it was—it was just so perfect, you know?” They all nod slowly in understanding. “And then he was already awake when I woke up the next morning and he was texting. I asked him who it was and he wouldn’t answer me and just went to shower. And then his phone went off while he was in the shower and it wouldn’t stop so I picked it up and the messages…” He suddenly bursts into sobs and is only consoled when Brittany whispers gently into his ear. “He was texting guys… arranging to meet them and fuck them right after he’d proposed to me… right after he’d made love to me and it’s just—”

 

He sobs and Santana leans forward to wipe his eyes as she clicks her tongue. The anger she feels is weirder than anything. She wants to hurt Blaine because he hurt Kurt but she knows it can wait. The need to console Kurt hits her faster than the need to make Blaine feel the same pain he caused her friend.

 

“Did you confront him right away?” Brittany asks when he’s calmed down a little.

 

“Yeah and I threw stuff at him,” he assures them like that’s important. “He tried to say they were just texts at first and that I was right during senior year when I said they were no big deal.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Brittany says before Santana can. All she can do is nod in agreement.

 

“Right,” Kurt nods as Rachel hands him a Kleenex. “I was flirting with a guy I wasn’t even interested in, talking about New York and music… I wasn’t telling him how I wanted his dick in my ass again.”

 

His sobs get louder and Brittany sends Santana a desperate look when Kurt just topples sideways and buries his head in Rachel’s chest. They hold him close and Santana can’t sit here anymore. She stands up and paces the room.

 

“I’m torn between finding him and killing him and just telling you to forget he even exists,” she says in disbelief. “What else did he do?”

 

Rachel looks down at Kurt before speaking for him. “He had foursome with some of the Warblers… including Sebastian. He slept with Sebastian too. There was also this guy from _Scandals_ and he’s sleeping with someone from NYADA too.”

 

“Jesus Christ…” Santana says. “And after all of this, he’s still living with you. You’re still sharing a bed with him while you ‘think about if you want to be with him or not’?” Kurt nods. “How is that even a question you’re asking yourself? You should be packing his damn bags because he is pathetic and you’re one million times better than he is.”

 

“But…” Kurt says.

 

“There are no buts, Kurt,” Santana says. “What is he doing right now? Is he back at your apartment doing whatever he can for you to forgive him?” Kurt shakes his head woefully. “No, he’s out at a bar, probably fucking other guys, and you’re letting him treat you like an idiot.”

 

Kurt nods sadly. “I know,” he whispers.

 

“I’ll give you two days to get him out of the loft,” Santana says. “Or I will.”

 

//

 

Blaine is still there two days later and Kurt doesn’t object when Santana and Brittany arrive at the loft the day after that and give him permission to use the key to their apartment. He knows what they’re here for.

 

He leaves and Rachel sticks behind to help Santana pack all of Blaine’s crap into trash bags. Rachel tries to point out that he has suitcases but Brittany just takes them from her and tosses them out into the hall. Rachel just follows their lead after that and quietly keeps the things that Kurt might want, putting them in a box that she leaves in her room.

 

They’re tossing the last of the bags out into the hall when Blaine arrives and they ignore him as he shouts for them to stop. He starts to take the bags back inside the loft but Santana just picks them up as he drops them inside the door and removes them again.

 

“How _dare_ you!” He shouts as they keep doing that for long minutes where Blaine doesn’t give up. He gets hot and bothered quickly, shouting at them to stop as they remain quiet and stoic. “What gives you the right?!” He demands. “You _don’t_ live here anymore, Santana!”

 

Santana struggles to remain calm but manages to keep her face stoic as she continues to toss the bags out into the hall when he brings them back in. She hopes he’ll gets the message soon but he just keeps taking the bags further and further inside of the apartment. After a while, he starts to unpack them, tossing everything out onto Kurt’s bed before running back out into the hall to get another bag.

 

Brittany starts to put everything back in the trash bag while Rachel watches, not sure what to do. It’s not until Blaine, crying pathetically and sweating with the effort of his actions, shoves Santana into the bookcase that their calm is broken. Santana winces and takes a deep breath in and she’s ready to kick the motherfucker’s ass except when she turns around to do it, Brittany’s already got him by the shoulders and is marching him backwards before shoving him into the metal door.

 

Her cast lifts and shoves its way into his neck, pinning him there effectively. He flails ridiculously before he begins to panic and grab at Brittany’s shoulders. Rachel’s already got Brittany around the waist to try and stop her but it’s no good. As Santana steps up to her with wide eyes, she knows that Brittany’s too strong for any of them. She’s got that sure and resolute look in her eye, the same one she had when she found out that Puck had cheated on Santana, got Quinn pregnant, and had kicked him in the balls.

 

“It was enough that you hurt Kurt,” she says through angry grit teeth and somehow still manages to sound calm. “But hurting my girlfriend? You’re screwed now, buddy.”

 

“Brittany!” Blaine pants as he grapples and pushes at her shoulders. Her entire body is pressed against him and she shakes her head at his fruitless actions. “Why are you doing this? We’re friends, remember? We—we came to New York together. Britt, it was just some texts! It was just some texts and it was before Kurt and I got back together and—” Santana can see him clawing at Brittany’s shoulders and as much as she wants to punch him in the face, she watches him squirm instead. It’s pathetic. “Goddamn it Brittany, I’m your friend. It was me, you and Sam last year, remember?!”

 

Santana feels her shock grow when Brittany lets out an amused laugh. “Yeah, but some friend you are. You spent time with Sam and I but all of that time—while you were trying to win Kurt back and pretending to be my friend—you were crushing on Sam. What kind of friend does that make you? You’re just lucky that I didn’t care,” she tells him. “You’re pathetic and you’re a hypocrite and neither Kurt or Rachel want you here anymore.”

 

“You don’t get to decide that,” Blaine whimpers. “For God’s sake, Britt. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

Brittany puts pressure against his neck, before removing her arm and grabbing a handful of his shirt.

 

“You should have thought of that before you betrayed somebody who loved you,” she says and when she shoves him out of the door and slams it closed behind him, Santana’s struck dumb completely.

 

Brittany leans against the metal and wipes her brow with the back of her wrist as Blaine pounds on the door. Santana steps over to her and tries not to laugh as she grabs the front of the overalls that cover Brittany’s body.

 

“Did he hurt you?” Brittany asks instantly.

 

Santana does laugh then, pressing her body against Brittany’s before kissing her.

 

Rachel looks at them funny when they finally part.

 

“I think Santana’s right,” Rachel says as she puts all the moved furniture back in its place. “New York has definitely made you mean.”

 

//

 

They don’t tell Kurt that Brittany almost kicked Blaine’s ass. Instead, they take him a change of clothing (or four) and his pajamas, and buy more liquor on the way back to their apartment.

 

He’s already half-drunk and crying when they get there, petting a bewildered Gus as he watches musicals. Brittany, Santana and Rachel don’t question it. They just shrug off their coats and pour themselves a drink before joining him.

 

Santana goes for a nap and then drags the three of them to work with her. Brittany’s already three sheets to the wind by the time she gets there and they put on a show for the customers that’s perhaps a little too R-rated. Lil doesn’t really care and neither do the customers when Brittany’s flashing her rainbow tattoo.

 

It makes Kurt a little uncomfortable but Brittany somehow manages to convince him and Rachel to go with them to get tattoos tomorrow. She waxes lyrical about how it’ll signify a new beginning in his life and that he can do something brave that he never thought he could do. Rachel doesn’t need much convincing because she just _really_ wants to get a star tattoo.

 

Santana’s not even sure if Kurt remembers who Blaine is by the time that they leave the bar. He’s smiling and happy and he keeps saying thank you over and over again. Santana smiles as she tries to herd the three of them out of the bar. Brittany’s lips attach themselves to her neck and Lil laughs as she locks them all out.

 

Somehow, she manages to get all of them back to their apartment without injury or arrest. She puts them to bed before disappearing to her own bedroom. She finds Brittany doing the most adorable drunk striptease which almost becomes a triptease when she almost falls over the shoes that are still on her feet.

 

Santana catches her and helps her to remove them before they end up in the hospital again. Brittany’s eyes flutter and she gives her cheesiest, most ridiculous grin as Santana lays her down on the bed so that she can tug off her jeans.

 

“What?” Santana asks with her own little laugh.

 

Brittany reaches for her and Santana straddles her thighs as she unbuttons Brittany’s blouse. “I’m just happy,” she mumbles drunkenly, shifting to help Santana remove the fabric. “Aren’t you happy?”

 

Santana nods slowly as she sits up to pull her dress over her head. “I’m very happy,” she assures her, giggling when Brittany’s hands quickly and deftly remove her bra before covering her boobs. “I’m very, very happy.”

 

Brittany tugs her forward until she can bury her face in Santana’s cleavage. Santana rolls her eyes and strokes Brittany’s hair from her forehead as lazy lips kiss the tops of her breasts.

 

“You’re not getting any,” she says quietly. “You know that, right?”

 

Brittany’s gasp of shock is almost cuter than everything else. “I’m not?!” she slurs adorably. Santana shakes her head and bites her lips. “Why not?!”

 

Santana reaches to pull the covers over them before leaning down to kiss her. “Because you’re drunk.”

 

“I’m just a little tipsy,” Brittany assures her. “Just a little tipsy, I promise.”

 

Santana kisses her eyebrows and down her nose to get to her cheeks. She enjoys the way that Brittany’s whole face relaxes at the feel of it, her eyes fluttering sleepily as the rest of her body softens.

 

“You’re falling asleep,” Santana tells her, smiling. “I like making love to you better when you’re awake.”

 

“That’s a lie,” Brittany sleepy-giggles, her hand brushing her face in an attempt to stay awake. “You woke me up twice this week with your damn tongue.”

 

Santana grins at the truth in her words and kisses her nose just because. “You asked me to,” she reminds her.

 

“That’s…not a lie,” Brittany giggles. “But I promise I’m awake now,” she says, even as Santana’s climbing off her to curl comfortably into her side. “I promise I’m… um…”

 

Santana leans over her to switch off the lamp before kissing her cheek and pulling the covers up around her. Brittany nuzzles into the touch before letting out a sleepy breath.

 

“Go to sleep,” Santana whispers against her ear.

 

Brittany nods and curls further into her as the sleep takes over.

 

//

 

Rachel and Kurt look nervous as Brittany leads them into a tattoo parlor the next afternoon. It was the only one with enough free appointments open and Rachel spent the whole of breakfast worrying that her skin would end up marred for life except it doesn’t look too bad from the outside.

 

There’s a short chick with smurf-blue hair that welcomes them with a smile. She sits them on a brown leather couch and offers them coffee before asking them what they were thinking of getting. Unsurprisingly, Brittany begins reeling off ideas straight away but no one else does. The girl—Celeste—hands them books to give them ideas as she leads Brittany off to introduce her to another of the artists.

 

Santana stands awkwardly because she knows what she wants. She’s spent days thinking about it since she and Brittany discussed it. She doesn’t want the same but she wants something that has meaning for them. It isn’t until Pearl, a middle-aged lady with multicolored hair, is already getting transfers ready for Brittany that she speaks up. She swallows and coughs to get Celeste’s attention, relaxing when the woman smiles.

 

“I know what I want,” she whispers and Celeste doesn’t say anything, just grabs some paper to start sketching.

 

//

 

It’s not until forty-five minutes later that she’s being led out to where Brittany’s straddling the chair and getting her second tattoo of the day. She looks over at her nervously and watches for a moment as Brittany bobs her head to the music and talks animatedly to the woman holding a needle to her chest.

 

And it’s like Brittany can feel her looking because she turns suddenly and grins when she finds her.

 

“Oh, Pearl,” she says quickly. “This is Santana.”

 

“Your girlfriend?” the woman says as Santana offers a wave and climbs onto the chair next to her. “Righteous. You girls are one hot ticket.”

 

Santana chuckles as her eyes search Brittany’s body. “Thank you,” she chuckles as she tries to see what Pearl is doing. “What have you given her?”

 

Pearl smiles and Brittany quickly turns her head to show Santana the tiny little feather that curls around the back of her ear. It’s cute and Santana already knows that she’s going to love kissing it later. She’s still grinning at that thought when Pearl moves away so that Brittany can show her the rest. Her eye drift to where Brittany’s shirt is tucked under her armpits. There’s something along the curve of her ribcage and when Santana leans forward to see what it is through the smudged ink on her skin, she can’t help but grin hopelessly.

 

 _And I love her_ , is scribbled there in cursive and as she reads it, Santana’s heart skips a beat.

 

She leans forward to kiss Brittany without thinking and Santana hears Celeste and Pearl tittering around them as she slowly pulls back. They’re grinning at them and Santana’s cheeks flush as Brittany licks her lips happily.

 

She smiles and looks at her curiously as Celeste starts to apply her transfer. Santana lifts her shirt to let her press it against her skin and watches as Brittany’s eyes narrow curiously at the similar placement. When Celeste steps away, it’s Brittany that sees what’s left there first. Her eyes soften and Santana becomes confused when they glass over. She looks down quickly, nervously, and feels relieved at what she sees.

 

Because it’s kind of better than she thought it would be when she finds a tiny bird—her songbird—taking flight across her skin. _Brittany Susan_ is written perfectly beneath it and she resists the urge to run her fingers over it as Celeste returns with her equipment.

 

Instead, she glances up at Brittany and finds her biting her lip so that she doesn’t smile too big. Santana shrugs her shoulder like it’s no big deal but then panics when she hears the whir of the thing that’s approaching her skin.

 

“Hold my hand?” she asks over Celeste’s head like a little wimp.

 

Brittany giggles and nods quickly.

 

“Always,” she says and tangles their fingers together.

 

//

 

She feels considerably more badass by the time that they step back over to Kurt and Rachel. Brittany’s got three new tattoos and, surprisingly, so has Santana.

 

Along with her songbird, she has Brittany’s initials on her left ring finger and a half moon on the inside of her left elbow that matches a similar one on the same place on Brittany’s right. Brittany bites her lip as they show them off to their friends and they pay their bill together as Rachel tells Celeste all about the star she wants.

 

“A star?” Celeste asks with a frown. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

 

Her words make Santana and Kurt both giggle.

 

“You have _no_ idea,” they say and Celeste looks confused as Rachel swats at them both.

 

Still, Rachel leaves forty-five minutes later happily showing off the gold star she now has permanently drawn on her ankle.

 

She beams almost as much as Kurt who proudly shows off the musical note now etched onto his wrist.

 

//

 

There’s still some small part of her that thinks that she’ll wake up one morning and everything will still be the way it used to be.

 

Some days she wakes up and is sure that Brittany will still be in her old bed, that things will still be hard and awkward and confusing, or that Brittany won’t even be here at all. There are days when she’s sure that she’s been dreaming, that people like her don’t get second chances like this. There are still days that Santana wonders when all of this will end.

 

But those thoughts are usually only split seconds before she opens her eyes and finds Brittany smiling at her. They’re fleeting ideas that come to her moments before Brittany wraps their bodies together so tightly that she can’t even let go. Those days are also the days when she’s overwhelmed.

 

And she gets overwhelmed about the strangest of things.

 

Like the small notes that Brittany leaves her in the morning, the ones that almost exactly match the ones that she puts in Brittany’s lunch every day. They’re usually nothing special—an _‘I love you’_ or an ‘ _I’ll miss you_ ’ that she didn’t even realize she needed, a _have a good day_ Brittany doesn’t get to wish her when Santana’s too sleepy to wake up—but they make her entire day. She thinks about them when she’s bored at the bar or when she’s watching boring reality TV while she’s waiting for Brittany to get home from school and they always make her feel overwhelmingly loved.

 

Then there are the silly things, like the pillow fights and the teasing games that litter their lives in sporadic childishness. They always leave her unsure whether she wants to laugh or cry because she’s missed Brittany’s laughter and her joy and she doesn’t understand how she lived without it for so long.

 

It’s different to when they’re apart—and there’s a part of her, a selfish, horrible part of her that wants to believe that Brittany’s joy doesn’t exist unless they’re together—because Brittany smiles for no good reason now and that’s Santana’s favorite thing in the world. The idea that she’s the cause for Brittany’s uncontrollable smiles and laughter makes her feel like she’s the best thing in the world. It makes her feel like she has the purpose that she sometimes isn’t sure she’ll ever get. Some days she feels like she never knew how to laugh like this, that maybe it should hurt to laugh this much. Instead it’s a balm to the wounds left behind by everything else and her chest fills with unbridled fear when she wonders what it would be like to live without it again.

 

Because there are things—things that she knows she missed and things that she never realized she needed—and they’re the things that she now knows she can’t live without.

 

And she kind of gets what Brittany said before—that sometimes it’s hard to search into the future and see and feel everything and know for certain. She understands that it’s hard to have a feeling be your only security. It’s easy to second-guess yourself and question it.

 

Still, she can feel the days when she feels uncertain lessening. They’re distancing further apart daily and waking up to a bad feeling is nothing like having Brittany come home from school everyday and lean over the back of the couch to kiss her hello. Second-guesses are nothing in the face of Brittany smiling at her and telling her that she loves her.

 

So, sure, maybe her uncertainty will always be there but maybe that’s just something they’ll have to deal with. Maybe it’s just one of the side effects of a relationship that’s had to fight this hard, but it doesn’t scare her. Not now. She knows that they’ll always fight for this. She knows that they’ll never stop fighting, no matter what anyone says or does.

 

And that’s how she knows that she’s the brave girl that Brittany fell in love with again.

 

That’s how she knows that she’s deserving.

 

//

 

“So how many jobs have you applied for?” Lil asks her one day, when she’s randomly doing a day shift at the bar. It’s noon and she’d rather be anywhere but here but she kind of needs the money, even if she does have to sit here all day and do nothing.

 

She rolls her eyes and sighs because just the mention of this subject is driving her crazy on a daily basis. Brittany’s stopped asking her how it’s going and she went to four interviews last week that she knows didn’t go well at all. She’s pretty sure that out of all the interviews she’s been to in New York she’s only actually liked the idea of about four of them. There have only been two that have been her dream job and she knows that it’s way too late to hear about them now. And that’s what makes her mad the most. She hates that she spends all this time writing resumes and cover letters and they can’t even be bothered to give her a yes or no.

 

“Hell if I know,” Santana says and shakes her head at the job advertisements in front of her. She spends so much time looking at job ads that she barely even bothers applying for most of them anymore. She knows how to figure out which ones are legit and likely and which ones are probably bogus and pointless. “Maybe I should just resign myself to being a coyote for life.”

 

Lil stops stacking the bar and looks at her. “Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

 

“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do about it,” Santana sighs. “No one wants to give me a job and I don’t want to be a copy girl for some Ad agency or lawyers office because I’m not interested. It’s hard to get a job in the entertainment industry and…” she sighs. “I don’t know, Lil. I just feel like I’m letting everybody down.”

 

Lil looks at her and breathes out knowingly. “And by everybody you mean Brittany.”

 

Santana nods and laughs to stop the tears. “I promised her, two years ago, that I’d be everything she deserved, that I’d become something she could be proud of, and I’m not that person, Lil. I’m a disappointment who dances on a bar and she is the _best_ in all her classes.” Talking about it makes Santana smile. “Did you know she has people coming up to her at school and asking for her card because she’s so good? And like… you totally know that in a few years from now, she’s going to be some hot piece of ass photographer with her own studio and… exhibitions and she’s going to have people from _The New York Times_ asking her about her life and she’s going to have to tell them that her girlfriend dropped out of college and has worked at a bar ever since.”

 

“So?”

 

Santana laughs. “So that’s bad. It’s embarrassing and most of the time I look at her and think, _shit I hit the jackpot_ and I want Brittany to be able to think that too.”

 

“I’m pretty sure she thinks that anyway,” Lil tells her softly. “Anyone who sees the way she looks at you would see it.”

 

“But I can’t understand it…” Santana shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t understand why. I want to deserve her but I don’t think I’ll ever think I do.”

 

Lil laughs and Santana stops moving when the woman wraps her arms around her. She pats the back of her head and laughs fondly. It’s a little unsettling.

 

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Lil says when she pulls back and messes up her hair. “At least it means you’ll never stop trying.”

 

It’s a very small silver lining, but Santana takes it anyway.

 

//

 

“Maybe you should take a break,” Kurt says to her. Brittany and Rachel went out ten minutes ago to get dinner and it’s just the two of them in the living room sipping on ice-cold beers.

 

Santana shakes her head and adds another job application to today’s pile. “I can’t.”

 

“Why?” Kurt says. “This is getting to you. It’s burning you out. You barely sleep because you’re always looking for new job ads or walking around the city going to interviews and I don’t understand why it’s so important to get a new job right now.”

 

“It just _is_ , Kurt,” she sighs. “I’ve been here for almost a year and I’m still working at a bar. I haven’t done _anything_ and I gave up a perfectly good scholarship for this, you know? I gave up a sure thing for a dream and it hasn’t worked out and okay, everything is great with Britt, but this is not what I imagined when I came here. This _isn’t_ what I imagined when I thought about being here with Britt either. This is not the future I want, you know? At the rate things are going, I’m going to keep working at the bar and I’ll be a career bar-topper, which isn’t what I want. Being with Britt again has made me realize that I _don’t_ want that.”

 

“Why?” Kurt sighs and she can tell he thinks she’s making something out of nothing.

 

“Because my future isn’t just mine anymore,” she snaps as all her papers flutter to the floor.

 

Kurt clicks his tongue. “You can’t let being with Brittany decide everything…”

 

“Uh, actually, yes I can,” she tells him as she picks everything up and sweeps her hair from her face. “I _can_ do that because I _want_ to do that. I’m going to marry her, Kurt, and we’re going to have babies and a perfect house but I can’t do that if I’m dancing on a bar for half the week. Maybe I don’t have those responsibilities yet but one day I will and I don’t want to stumble through my life promising that I’ll figure it all out next year because otherwise I’m going to run out of time.”

 

“Santana—”

 

“Kurt, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

 

When she disappears into her bedroom and slams the door, he has no other choice but to listen.

 

//

 

It’s 2am on a Monday night when Brittany has the final say. She’s half asleep beside her and Santana’s still writing out applications and sending emails. The lamp is still on beside her and she can tell that Brittany’s still awake because she keeps irritably tossing and turning.

 

“Santana, I have school tomorrow,” Brittany reminds her and Santana swallows guiltily as she continues to work.

 

“I know,” she whispers. “Just ten more minutes.”

 

Brittany rolls onto her back fifteen minutes later and sighs. Santana tries not to pay attention and keeps typing until Brittany leans over and takes the computer from her. Santana doesn’t even try to argue but she purses her lips as Brittany closes the laptop and puts it on the floor on her side of the bed before lying back down.

 

“You’re worrying me,” Brittany says, glancing up at her. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

 

Santana laughs mirthlessly and sighs. “I’m just trying to—”

 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Brittany breathes calmly. “I’ve talked to Kurt and Rachel and we’re worried about you. You don’t have to do this. It doesn’t say anything about who you are.”

 

Santana feels the tears in her cheeks and at the back of her throat. “But it does—”

 

“It _doesn’t_ ,” Brittany sighs and she pulls on Santana’s arm until Santana rolls over and buries her face into her neck. Santana instantly begins to cry quietly against her skin. “Baby, you have time. You know that, right? You don’t have to know what you want to be right now. You don’t even have to know in a year. I know you have all these big ideas and I love you a million times more for that but when I mentioned that I didn’t like you working at the bar it was because I wanted you to see that you have the potential to do anything you want. Maybe someone hasn’t seen that potential yet. Maybe you haven’t even seen that potential yourself. But you have time, okay? We can work it out together. We can take as long as we need.”

 

Santana whimpers and sighs. “But I just want the future to start now, you know? I want it all now because the more I have with you the harder it is for someone to take it away.”

 

“Oh, honey,” Brittany coos and Santana feels arms wrap tightly around her, squeezing her close. “No one is ever going to take me or anything we have away from you. Not if I have anything to do with it.”

 

“But—”

 

“No buts,” Brittany whispers and kisses her ear delicately before whispering into it. “You have me forever, okay? There’s no changing that.”

 

“Promise?” Santana hiccups.

 

Brittany pushes her back until she can cup her face and wipe away her tears. Her eyes are bright blue and sure and that’s calming enough. Still, Brittany presses a gentle kiss to her lips and that softens the worry better than anything else.

 

“I promise,” Brittany smiles and it’s enough for now.

 

//

 

She stops looking for jobs and Lil cuts her Thursday night shift.

 

She spends most of her time watching TV on her couch and reassuring her mom that she’s okay over the phone. She thinks her mom must have talked to Brittany because she keeps reminding her that she still has her graduation money and that it’s more than enough to fund her life for a couple of years. Santana doesn’t want to tell her mom that she’s saving the money in case they need a deposit on a house someday and tells her she’ll think about it.

 

And she kind of does. She looks through her bank statements and tries to figure out how long they can last at the level they have been before they have to start turning off all the lights and only eating ramen. They have a couple of months before she’ll have to start looking for a job again but it doesn’t bother her right now. She just needs a few days to rethink her strategy.

 

//

 

Except that she doesn’t have to.

 

It’s funny how life always has a weird way or working itself out.

 

//

 

The letter comes on a Tuesday morning.

 

She wakes up late and she knows that it’s late because the sun is high in the sky and the drapes have been opened. There’s a faint smell of pancakes and when she pads out into the kitchen, there’s a plate of them sitting on the counter topped with a smiley face made of fruit and a note beside them.

 

 _You’re so cute when you’re sleepy_ , the note reads and Santana instantly knows that she probably mumbled something ridiculous this morning when Brittany came to kiss her goodbye. She can’t remember it but, given her track record, it’s probably something absolutely pathetic. She doesn’t care too much; Sleepy-Santana sayings are some of Brittany’s favorite things.

 

She eats the pancakes quickly before she showers and gets ready in her most comfortable clothes that aren’t really hers at all. She wears Brittany’s sweats and Brittany’s NYU shirt and Brittany’s cardigan that she has to keep tugging up her arms because the sleeves are too long. She piles her hair atop her head before cleaning the whole apartment.

 

It’s not until she gets a text from Kurt that she remembers she needs to go to the grocery store and quickly heads out to get all the ingredients she needs. She promised Kurt a feast and she clicks her tongue when she gets her wallet from her purse and almost drops the prescription for her contacts that she still hasn’t bothered to get. She figures it can wait and hands over more money than she wanted to as she leaves the store with her arms full of bags.

 

She almost doesn’t stop when she reenters their building but does when she can hear Mrs. Cain on the second floor shouting at the guy that lives above her. She mills around by the hallway and eventually delves her hand into her pocket to get her mailbox key when Mrs. Cain starts another rant.

 

Santana takes out the few pieces of mail they have and bites the bullet before heading upstairs. As it turns out, Mrs. Cain is so into making her point that she doesn’t even notice Santana or call her “the slutty-looking queer Mexican” like she usually does when she thinks Santana can’t hear. Santana tosses all her groceries on the kitchen table when she gets inside and throws her coat over the back of the couch before remembering that the mail was inside her pocket.

 

She takes it out and flips through the cable bill and the credit card junk mail and Brittany’s bank statement before she stops at a plain white envelope.

 

It stops her because it’s not just any plain white envelope. The paper is fancy and it’s weighty in her hands. Her heartbeat thuds just a little when she realizes that it’s her name on the front and she forgets her groceries and making dinner in favor of tossing the other mail onto the coffee table and holding this piece in her hands.

 

She holds it up to the light but the paper is too thick. She can’t see anything but her name on the front, printed perfectly. The seal is perfect too and she has to try really hard to open it without ripping the whole thing into pieces when she eventually pries an edge open. It sounds definitive as she pushes her finger through the tear and she’s pretty sure she isn’t breathing by the time she’s finished.

 

She holds her breath the whole time it takes to pull out the pages inside and only breathes out unsteadily when she sees the letterhead and the first couple of lines.

 

 _Dear Santana,_ it says, _At Downtown Records we take pride in new talent amongst our ranks and that is why we annually ask two young individuals who we deem to be the most deserving to join us. During your visit to our offices we were impressed by your confidence and creativity and that is why we would like to offer you a position as a junior assistant in our A &R department_—

 

She begins hyperventilating before she can even finish the letter. Her chest begins to burn and she’s reaching for her phone before she can even think about it.

 

She dials the number without thinking and it’s not until she speaks that she realizes she’s sobbing.

 

“You need to come home,” she gasps quickly. “Please, you need to come home.”

 

//

 

She’s still sobbing when Brittany gets home and she grabs for Santana desperately, cold hands clutching at Santana’s cheeks as she tries to get some sense out of her. Santana just keeps sobbing and it’s not until Santana grins and shoves the paper at her that Brittany’s panic converts into confusion.

 

Brittany takes the paper warily and reads it slowly. Her brow furrows as her pursed lips grow into a slow grin. It makes Santana giggle and when Brittany glances up from the letter to look at her it transforms into a full body laugh that she can control no better than the tears.

 

Brittany grabs for her quickly, kissing her so firmly that she feels grounded. A tongue invades her mouth and Santana lets her hands reach up to remove the wool hat from Brittany’s head so that her fingers can tangle in long blonde hair. She sighs against chapped lips and Brittany tugs her until she’s in her lap, until they’re kissing furiously and everything’s going too fast.

 

It’s not how Santana wants this to go today and she pulls back quickly and stands up.

 

Brittany eyes her curiously, the letter still in her fingers as Santana’s hands push the cardigan down her arms and her fingers reach for the bottom of her t-shirt. She steps backwards and Brittany’s eyes follow her as Santana disappears into the bedroom, losing her clothes piece by piece.

 

Santana’s naked by the time that Brittany appears in the doorway. The letter’s still in her hands and she’s wearing too many layers.

 

“Come here,” Santana whispers seductively and Brittany’s already tossing the letter onto the dresser and shrugging off her coat as she stumbles over. Santana pants out a laugh in anticipation and lets her hands begin to wander her own body. “No, come _here_ …” she says “…and take off your pants.”

 

//

 

“I didn’t even know you’d applied for this,” Kurt says that evening, when they’re eating celebratory pizza with the champagne he’d bought for the occasion. “This is amazing, Santana.”

 

Santana takes the letter back and laughs. “Thanks,” she says, looking at it for about the millionth time. “And, I mean, it was one of the first things I applied for and I went to the interview back in like… November. I never thought I’d get it so I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t even really try to impress them… we kind of just talked about music.”

 

“And now you’re an A&R lady,” Rachel says with a grin.

 

Santana smiles and laughs modestly. Brittany’s hands are running up and down her naked back beneath her shirt and she guesses that Kurt and Rachel can probably tell they spent most of the afternoon making each other orgasm but they don’t mention it.

 

“I told you that someone needed to see your potential,” Brittany whispers and Santana turns to her and smiles at her words. “If you were relaxed they could probably see how brilliant you are.”

 

She leans in to kiss Santana’s clothed shoulder and Santana hums in approval before speaking.

 

“Is that your version of an I-told-you-so, smarty pants?” she asks.

 

Brittany kisses up her neck. “You’re one to talk.”

 

Santana bites her lip and momentarily forgets that their friends are in the room. When she does, she glances over at them to find them pouring over the letter and the notes that Santana had taken when she’d called to accept the position. She takes the opportunity to turn to Brittany and urge her into a deep kiss that lasts way too long to go unnoticed.

 

Santana’s breath is labored and her cheeks are flushed when they finally pull away.

 

“Can we start that future now?” Santana asks as they press their noses together.

 

Brittany smiles and lets her eyes flutter delicately.

 

She kisses Santana one more time before pulling back and sucking on her bottom lip. There’s a twinkle in her eye that makes Santana nervous and excited and overwhelmed all at once.

 

“Gladly,” she whispers and all Santana can do is smile and let relief fill her chest.

 

//

 

The three of them take her shopping for new clothes and she can’t stop smiling as they pick her out a power suit to wear on her first day. She tries it on and parades it around the store to impressed applause from Kurt and Rachel and bedroom eyes from Brittany.

 

It makes her bite her lip and when Brittany stands up and runs her hands over the shoulders of the jacket, she knows she’s going to buy it.

 

She tries to pretend that she doesn’t know that it’ll be the only thing she’s wearing later but Brittany doesn’t look surprised when she emerges from the bedroom in it that evening. Her blue eyes slowly do a double take but then she sets her homework on the coffee table before standing and following her into the bedroom.

 

The jacket gets tossed to the floor mere minutes later. The heels last only a few seconds after that. Her lipstick is smudged into nothingness a few more minutes after that but the silk scarf and the tie that Santana had bought without Brittany knowing last a lot longer.

 

So do her glasses.

 

//

 

“Okay, everybody,” Lil shouts into the crowd. “Tonight’s our dearest Rosario’s last night as a Coyote—” She cuts off to the shouts of disappointment and Santana smiles from her place atop the bar. “So y’all motherfuckers better get rowdy and remind her what she’ll be missing!”

 

The crowd hollers as the music starts. Santana laughs as her fellow bar-toppers begin to dance, giggling into the song as she follows her usual routine. It’s more energetic and lively than she remembers it ever being. The screams are bigger and better than she remembers hearing. She thinks that it might even be her best performance and that makes her happy because she knows she’s quitting while she’s ahead.

 

Her hair is slick to her forehead and she’s sweated off most of her make-up by the time she hits the ground again. Brittany, Kurt and Rachel are whooping for her when she finally climbs off the bar and Lil grabs her around the shoulders without her realizing. She laughs and turns to hug her happily.

 

“Thanks, Lil,” she whispers, sure that she hears the subtlest of sniffs when the arms around her tighten.

 

“You better make us all proud,” Lil says and Santana nods. “And you better get your fine ass back here to visit us.”

 

“Of course I will,” Santana laughs. “Where else will I find the new talent in this city?”

 

Lil laughs and Santana squeezes her tightly before letting go.

 

“I mean it, Lil,” she whispers with a sincerity she didn’t even know she had. “Thank you.”

 

Lil shrugs and smiles and Santana knows that’s the best she’s gonna get.

 

//

 

She barely sleeps the night before her first day at work. Brittany tries to stay awake with her as much as she can, her arms wrapped tightly around Santana’s body like that might help. It does but not enough to calm down Santana’s frantic brain long enough.

 

She’s awake long before she needs to be but it doesn’t matter. She stays in Brittany’s embrace and strokes her fingers over the backs of Brittany’s hands. It makes her stir after a while and Brittany not so stealthily breathes in the smell of her hair before greeting her.

 

“Hi,” she whispers. “Did you sleep at all?”

 

Santana shrugs. “Little bit. Not much.”

 

Brittany squeezes her tighter and smiles against the back of her shoulder. “You’ll be great.”

 

Santana smiles but can’t fight the thick lump of sickly nerves that lodges in her throat. “I’m just nervous,” she whispers. “I can’t help it.”

 

It’s not as shocking as it used to be when Brittany forces her onto her back and climbs over her. Long legs straddle her and Santana feels herself calm at the familiarity and comfort. She takes a deep breath in and lets her hands fall to Brittany’s thighs. Her nails dig in and she can feel her whole body buzzing in the worst way.

 

“You’re shaking,” Brittany whispers and Santana nods, the nerves suddenly overwhelming her to the point where she thinks she might burst into tears.

 

She gasps out desperately. “What if I suck? What if they hate me?” she breathes before swallowing anxiously. “What if I fuck it up?”

 

When she looks up at her, Brittany’s looking at her strangely, like she’s the best thing she’s ever seen, like she’s never been more content than in this moment. Her eyes are slow and soft. Her eyelids flutter open and closed like she’s sleepy but somehow wide-awake. Her smile is lazy and effortless. Santana wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know she was doing it. It makes her feel relaxed in a way that she can’t understand and she closes her eyes the second that Brittany’s head dips down so that their lips brush together.

 

She kisses her lazily, well practiced and easy. Santana’s brain switches off instantly, processing nothing that doesn’t relate to Brittany or what she’s doing. A firm hand cups Santana’s jaw and there’s a new ferocity to Brittany’s kiss. It’s never felt so sure and grounding and Santana lets her body soften as Brittany takes control.

 

She’s warm and relaxed by the time that Brittany pulls back. The only thing she can feel is the slow thud of the blood that rushes through her ears like it usually does.

 

“What are you doing?” Santana whispers as Brittany begins to press kisses all over her face. The hand on her cheek turns into fingertips mapping out the shapes of her features, following the pattern that Brittany’s mouth makes.

 

“Kissing you,” Brittany whispers against her eyebrow. The fingers of her other hand clumsily reach for Santana’s t-shirt beneath the covers and lift it up as the path of kisses starts down her neck.

 

Once her breasts are freed from beneath the shirt, Santana breathes in sharply as Brittany’s fingers reach down for the waistband of the underwear she wears. Her head rolls to the side as Brittany finds that spot on her neck, the one she always forgets about, and laves her tongue over it enough to make her quiver but not enough to leave a mark.

 

“What are you doing now?” Santana breathes as Brittany rests her fingers beneath the front of her underwear. The scratch of her cast is irritating but she’s too worked up to care.

 

The hand disappears, the lips and fingers pull away, and Santana’s eyes open to find Brittany staring down at her in that same way.

 

“I’m making love to you,” Brittany whispers as she presses a peck against Santana’s chin. “Or, at least, I will be.”

 

Santana smiles despite herself. “Is that so?”

 

Brittany doesn’t smile back.

 

“Yes,” she says as a hand slowly disappears beneath the covers. “It is.”

 

And as Brittany slowly strokes through her, her lips beginning to trail down her body, Santana feels herself forget anything else.

 

//

 

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you there?” Brittany says as they say goodbye outside the subway station. “I wouldn’t mind.”

 

Santana shakes her head. “I’m not expected there until nine and you have class. I don’t want you to miss it.”

 

Brittany holds her hand and plays with her fingers. “I know but…” She purses her lips. “What if you get upset and freak out and need me?”

 

Santana smiles and leans forward to kiss her for her kindness. “I won’t,” she whispers. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“You sure?” Brittany asks, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Will you call me if you need me? I’m only going to be in the lab, so…”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Santana whispers. “I promise.”

 

And with Brittany’s kiss goodbye and her whispered “I love you”, Santana knows she’s telling the truth.

 

//

 

“How was it?” Brittany asks her the second she gets inside the apartment that night.

 

It’s way past eight and she’s tired and hungry. She’s glad that she can smell some kind of food waiting for her and practically dies from happiness on the spot when she looks up and sees Brittany waiting for her on the couch with Chinese and a glass of wine.

 

Instead of answering, she just smiles and kicks off her heels. “We’re drinking red?” she questions as she shrugs off her coat and jacket.

 

Brittany smiles despite her lack of answer. “We’re grown ups now.”

 

“But we hate red wine,” Santana says as she tugs her shirt from her skirt and flops down beside her. “We only drink it when Kurt makes us.”

 

Brittany smiles and leans down over the arm of the couch before quickly pulling out two beers. Santana smiles and lets her eyes flutter behind her glasses as Brittany uncaps one and hands it to her.

 

“You’re a keeper,” Santana tells her jokingly before leaning in to kiss her. Brittany smiles cutely and studies her face. Santana lets her, knowing she’s looking for signs of upset or sadness, before speaking. “It was awesome,” she whispers as quietly as she can because she doesn’t want to jinx it too quickly. “I think I love it already.”

 

The concern on Brittany’s face transforms quickly into a relieved smile. “Yeah?” she whispers just as quietly. “That’s great.”

 

Santana leans up to kiss her again. Her body feels heavy and she groans softly.

 

“I’m exhausted,” she whispers and Brittany giggles knowingly, like she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world. A hand comes up to cup her jaw, a thumb stroking around her eyes and soothing the tension. It makes Santana feel overwhelmed quicker than she can anticipate and her eyes glaze over in a mix of panic and excitement. Brittany’s grip on her cheek tightens as she sees it. “It’s all becoming real,” Santana says in awe as she realizes how true the words are. “All of it.”

 

The words make Brittany smile and when she kisses her the next time, it feels old and new at once.

 

//

 

A week into her new job, Santana’s pretty sure that her life is as perfect as she could hope for it to be right now.

 

She has a job and Brittany’s doing well at school. Rachel and Kurt are happy and they’re all healthy. She still gets to have her Tuesday night movie nights and she no longer works the weekends unless she’s going to see new possible artists that her boss asks her to. It’s not exactly a bad thing; not when she’s getting free tickets to see awesome bands. She gets to take Brittany, Kurt and Rachel with her but there are better perks to being in the music business. Sure, there are freebies and all that stuff but mostly she likes how people look at her differently to when she was half-naked on a bar.

 

She has respect and people smile at her like they’re impressed by more than just what she looks like when she tells them who she is. She went to see a band near Brittany’s school the other night and Brittany met her there with some friends. She’d never met them before and it felt good when they asked Santana what she did only for Brittany to wrap her arms around her and tell them proudly.

 

And, sure, they might have been impressed if Brittany had told them that she was a dancer at Coyote Ugly but she knows it wouldn’t have made her feel like this.

 

She kind of feels like it can’t get much better than this. At least, not right now, not at this point in their lives. She feels like they’re on their way and they’re getting there. She caught Brittany clicking on an online ad for a joint bank account the other day and, while she didn’t mention she’d seen it, she spent the whole next day walking around with the biggest smile on her face.

 

Coming home everyday to find Brittany waiting for her on the couch with Tubbs in her lap and Gus laid across her chest makes her feel like other, bigger things aren’t a far reach away. What they have has become her normal and that realization makes her feel less terrified than she thought it would.

 

She feels lucky and, as she comes home and kisses Brittany hello, everything feels too right to question.

 

//

 

She only starts to worry when she comes home for the third day in a row to find the apartment empty.

 

She checks her phone just like she did the past two days and finds the same ‘ _Still at school. Be home late x’_ message she’s already received twice before. It makes her sigh and when she sees that it’s almost nine, it makes a million things start running through her head.

 

She gets a beer and goes through work stuff, barely looking at it or watching the TV that she stares at blankly. It’s almost eleven by the time that Brittany comes home, quietly entering the apartment and kissing her on the forehead before going to the bathroom.

 

Santana hopes that she won’t do what she did the past two nights but when Brittany exits the bathroom with a clean face and minty breath, she knows what comes next.

 

“I’m tired,” she smiles sweetly but it unsettles Santana. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Santana nods in understanding regardless of the worry in her gut and watches her disappear into the bedroom. She sits on the couch stewing in her worry for half an hour before she follows and when she gets there, Brittany’s fast asleep.

 

The only thing that makes her feel better is that Brittany’s arm reaches out across the mattress, searching for her.

 

And when she climbs into bed, Santana clutches at that arm like it’s the only thing she has.

 

//

 

Brittany doesn’t come home until almost eleven for a whole week and spends the weekend working on school stuff in her old bedroom. She tells Santana that whatever she’s working on is due on Monday but by Wednesday she’s still not coming home until late.

 

On Thursday, when she gets the usual text from Brittany, she’s glad that she has a show to go and see. She gets there and doesn’t take off her coat, instead standing in the balcony of the venue making notes in the leather binder than Kurt bought her. People try to buy her drinks but she doesn’t take them. The show ends at half eleven and she climbs into a cab.

 

Brittany’s fast asleep by the time she gets inside and when her arm curls around Santana’s waist when she climbs in beside her, it doesn’t feel as good as it should.

 

//

 

On Friday, she doesn’t wait for Brittany’s text and turns off her phone at seven when the people in her department ask her if she’s coming for a drink. They’ve asked her every Friday since she started and she felt bad turning them down when she chose to go home instead. She figures that this is the best way to stop insulting her colleagues and hide from what scares her at home so she nods when they ask and follows them to the bar down the street.

 

They order her a drink and when she takes a sip she isn’t sure what it is but it’s okay. She drinks it slowly, swirling the straw around it wistfully as she rests her chin in her palm. The guys in her department are loud and talk about sports. The women talk about men. She feels left out and wishes they were talking about work because she always feels on the same level when they do that.

 

She looks around her and wonders what Brittany would think of this fancy bar she’s in. She can already imagine all the jokes she’d be making about everyone and it makes her smile and feel a longing that she thought she’d forgot. It makes her stomach and her chest hurt and she suddenly wishes that she were at home, waiting for Brittany.

 

She thinks she would rather wait for Brittany than waste anymore time doing something else. She doesn’t even bother draining the rest of her drink and apologizes to her colleagues before exiting the bar.

 

She walks to the subway and checks her watch to see that it’s only nine-thirty. By the time she gets home, she won’t have to wait that long for Brittany to get back and that thought makes her feel a little bit better. She walks slowly to kill time and closes her eyes on the short train journey home. She stops off at Mr. Broadsky’s to get some candy and he doesn’t say anything to her, which says more than she wants it to. She walks slowly up the stairs, weighed down by the longing that she realizes more now than she has all week. By the time she gets to the front door, she almost doesn’t want to go in and she takes a deep breath as she puts her key in the lock.

 

It’s a deep breath that turns into a gasp the minute she opens the door. And as she pushes it wider, she realizes that she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

//

 

She’s never seen anything else like it.

 

She’s never _imagined_ anything else like it.

 

Her breath begins to labor as she takes an unsteady step inside of the apartment and she presses a hand to base of her chest as she closes the door behind her. Her eyes widen and she knows that they are probably shining. The sheer amount of white and blue fairy lights that have been strung up around the room makes it impossible for them not to. She takes it all in and feels all the worry that’s overwhelmed her for the past two weeks transform into nervous panic.

 

She doesn’t know what to think as she looks around her because if she didn’t know any better, she’d think she’d walked into the twilight zone. Her apartment doesn’t look like her apartment anymore. Things have been moved, furniture taken somewhere else to make room for more space for what lingers in the middle of the room.

 

It makes her breath catch and she claws her hands into the fabric at the top of her dress as she tries not to burst into tears. A bed, made with quilts and pillows sits in the middle of the room where their couches used to be. Beside it, a champagne bottle sits on ice beside a steaming pan of mac and cheese. Two empty plates sit with two empty champagne flutes and Santana looks away from it to admire the thing that overwhelms her most because she’s never seen anything like it.

 

Well, she has but not like this. She’s used to seeing sheets of Brittany’s photographic paper hanging on a piece of string across their bathroom, the black and white photographs drying out slowly and making their apartment smell like chemicals. Except the apartment doesn’t smell like chemicals and she’s not sure that most of these pieces of photographic paper—these pieces of paper that perfectly wallpaper every single wall and surface in their apartment from top to bottom—technically count as photographs.

 

From the little she knows about turning film into photographs, she knows that they probably weren’t made the same way. They don’t actually show anything; they’re just over-exposed black boxes with words on them. Some of them are photographs—mostly of Santana—but they still have the words on them.

 

They all have words on them and it’s not until Santana takes a nervous step closer that she realizes what all these words are.

 

Her heart instantly skips a beat and she gasps brokenly, too shocked to even cry.

 

Her head shakes hopelessly and she turns her head back to look around her, to soak in the unbridled love that she feels as she realizes what all these different pieces of paper are here to tell her. The sheer amount and enormity of how many there are makes her feel like she needs to sit down, except she can’t because she has to read all of them.

 

She _has_ to know what they say… just like she did the last time.

 

Except this time, she really, really hopes that Brittany didn’t run out of paper.

 

She wonders if Brittany found her box—the box of all things Brittany—hidden in the bottom of her nightstand. She doesn’t know if she wants her to have or not because she’d be lying if she said those pieces of paper didn’t get her through some of the hardest times of her life. Those reasons, those innocent and beautiful reasons, kept her going when she was convinced that she was all alone in the world. They reminded her that there was someone out there who, for even just a while, had loved all the most miniscule and ridiculous things about her. She practically knows them by heart now and as she looks around her, she knows that these are all new.

 

Because _No. 983: She’s the best little big spoon on the whole planet_ makes her cheeks flush with pink embarrassment.

 

Because _No. 1459: She’s braver than she thinks_ , makes her heart skip a beat.

 

Because _No. 2621: Sometimes the thought of her is the only thing that makes me feel safe enough to sleep_ , makes the things that keep Santana upright start to crumble before _No. 577: She bought me penguin panties_ makes her laugh out loud.

 

The tears rush down her cheeks without her even knowing and she presses her hand against the wall to steady herself as her vision blurs. She takes one last look around her before closing her eyes and letting a few quiet sobs leave her.

 

It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

 

“I thought you’d like that one,” she hears whispered from somewhere to her right a few moments later and she reaches up to brush the tears away as she turns around to find its source.

 

Her breath is taken from her all over again when she eventually finds Brittany standing there watching her from the doorway of their bedroom. It catches in her throat when she sees that Brittany’s wearing her dark blue dress from two New Year’s Eves ago, that her bright blond hair is curling around her face in the most gorgeous waves.

 

It instantly forces her to take back her previous thought because _Brittany_ is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

 

And it’s not until she sees the small robin’s egg blue box in Brittany’s hands that everything starts to make sense. Her breath gasps from her and she shakes her head desperately until it all becomes too much. She feels her legs begin to crumble and then Brittany’s there, rushing to her and softening the blow as they both fall to their knees.

 

“Britt—” She pants, a hand to her chest as she just keeps crying. Brittany’s nervous hands wipe away the tears as worried eyes never leave her.

 

“Please stop crying,” She whispers. “I can’t do this if you’re crying. Please don’t cry. I want you to be happy.”

 

Santana looks at her and sucks in deep, desperate breaths as thumbs wipe at her cheeks.

 

“Britt Britt—” she gasps and Brittany doesn’t say anything, she just keeps wiping away her tears until Santana slowly begins to calm down. Brittany looks terrified and Santana reaches up to clutch desperately at her hips. “Britt, what are you doing? I don’t understand.”

 

Brittany nervously worries her bottom lip before she speaks.

 

“Did you know,” she starts in a whisper, “that I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old?”

 

The words make Santana stop because suddenly all she wants to do is listen.

 

Brittany presses her thumbs over Santana’s cheek like a nervous habit, like if she stops something might explode. She swallows nervously.

 

“I can still remember the day that I realized it,” Brittany says with a sure nod. “I was twelve years old and we were in my backyard, in my tree house, and you held my hand for no reason and it was like you’d _brought me to life_. It felt like I’d never felt anything else before you and I didn’t know what it meant for days and days until you did it again and you smiled at me and I just _knew_. I knew what it meant but I wasn’t sure so I started writing down all these reasons why it could be what I thought it was and then I just never stopped.”

 

Brittany’s eyes glass over with tears and Santana bites her lip to stop herself from sobbing again.

 

“At first it was just a way to figure out what was going on,” Brittany shrugs. “If you used to sit in the back row in Glee club and count my smiles then you need to know that I’d sit on the back row and list all the reasons I loved you…” she trails off as she breathes away the tears. “The more distant you were, the more reasons I had. When I was with Artie I used to sit there for _hours_ after I’d spent time with him and just write reasons why I loved you more. When we were secret, I used to write reasons because you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I couldn’t tell anyone… so I wrote it down.”

 

Santana grips at her waist tighter and moves closer.

 

“I thought we’d be a secret _forever_ ,” Brittany gasps as she fights away the tears. “But you were better than I ever thought you’d be. You are better than any dream I’ve ever had and even though I thought I’d stop once everybody knew about us, I couldn’t. You were— _are_ —always in my head. And nobody else gets it, you know?” Santana nods quickly and Brittany smiles. “So I kept writing them down and I showed you some and maybe I stopped for a while but, when you broke us up, writing down the reasons why I loved you was the only way I could stop myself from hating you.”

 

She chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

 

“But it just made me love you more,” she says quietly. “It made me realize that I’ll never meet another person in my life who will make me feel as whole and wonderful as you do and I’m not scared anymore.” She shakes her head. “I’m not scared of losing you or of you leaving me or any of that stuff because I know in my heart that we will always find our way back to each other. I know that I will love you until the day my soul leaves my body and I _hope to God_ that I’ll even love you a long, long time after that.”

 

Santana can’t help the tears then, not when thick streams roll silently down Brittany’s cheeks too.

 

“And this is not about sex or gender or labels or any of that bullshit,” Brittany cries softly. “It’s about the fact that you are the only person in the entire world that I want to be with. It’s about the fact that you are the only person in the entire world that makes me feel safe and loved unconditionally. It’s about the fact that you are my family. And it’s about the fact that I know that I’m the person who can love you and take care of you better than anyone else can.”

 

Santana can’t stop herself from reaching up to take Brittany’s face then. She cradles it gently and looks at her without the hope and need she expected to feel. All she has is patience and she lets Brittany’s tears soak into her skin as Brittany speaks.

 

“And if you really want to know why I’m doing this,” Brittany whispers. “It’s because I was sitting there two weeks ago thinking about the fact that you never think you’re good enough. You’re _always_ going to think you aren’t good enough and I think I was waiting for that to change before I did this but then I realized that it’s never going to change unless I do. So that’s why I’m doing this.”

 

Santana starts to panic a little when Brittany lets go and reaches between them to where the discarded robin’s egg blue box sits between them. She undoes the white ribbon and lifts off the top to reveal the black velvet box inside it. Her heart starts to thud in her chest as Brittany holds the box between them. She swallows nervously as she looks back up at Santana.

 

“Two years ago, I told you I wanted to buy you a ring but that I didn’t because I was scared,” Brittany whispers. “I told you that you deserved it because of everything you’d been through and I think that was wrong. What I should have told you was that you deserved it because you are the most wonderful person I know. I could spend all day trying to tell you why but it still wouldn’t be enough. I could tell you all the reasons why I love you but none of them would matter because I just _do_ , Santana. I just love you and that’s it.”

 

“Britt—” Santana whimpers when Brittany slowly opens the box to reveal what’s inside. The fairy lights instantly make it twinkle and Santana tries not to gasp as her eyes turn back to Brittany’s blue ones. She can see it reflecting in them.

 

“You say you’re not a diamond, but you _are_ , baby,” Brittany whispers. “And when I woke up two weeks ago and realized that you’re never going to think you’re good enough I also realized that I couldn’t wake up another day without asking you something…” She laughs then and it makes Santana shake. “I _did_ because I wanted this to be special. I didn’t want to blurt it out and ask you while you were panicking or while we were making love… I didn’t think it would be a story our parents would appreciate.”

 

That makes Santana laugh and she’s surprised to feel herself start to breathe steadier, to calm down and resign herself to the fact that this is happening and that there’s going to be no turning back after this.

 

“And while I could have just blurted it out, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you all these things that might help a little bit,” Brittany says and Santana smiles even as her cheeks go a little pink. “I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that you’re not the only person in the world that sometimes thinks they aren’t good enough. Everyone does. I do. I still sometimes turn to you and wonder how I got so lucky. Sometimes I struggle really hard and I wonder how I could ever possibly deserve you. But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t really about deserving each other. It’s about wanting each other despite all the faults and the fears. It’s about knowing that what other people think doesn’t matter.”

 

Santana takes a glance down into the box and sighs. “Britt, can you just—”

 

“Santana Marie Lopez,” Brittany cuts straight through her and when Santana looks up at her she’s grinning. A hand cups her cheek again and Brittany shuffles closer. A thumb swipes over Santana’s bottom lip and Brittany sighs quietly. “Santana Marie Lopez,” she says much, much quieter, like she’s not saying her name, but a prayer. “Will you marry me?”

 

The words do little more than make Santana smile and she shuffles closer until she can wrap her arms around Brittany’s waist. “I thought you were already marrying me,” she whispers.

 

Brittany smiles and their noses press together. “I think you’re missing the point, right now,” she says. “I’m trying to make a grand romantic gesture.”

 

Santana giggles and her smile falls a little in curiosity. “This is what you’ve been doing the past two weeks? Planning this?”

 

Brittany’s cheeks pink and she shrugs quickly and guiltily. “I knew I’d do it before I had everything ready if we spent too much time together. I wanted it to be perfect.”

 

“Well, you scared me,” Santana says, nudging her head back. “Don’t do that again.”

 

Brittany smiles. “I guess we’re even then.”

 

“Not until you buy me a kitten,” Santana challenges until Brittany quickly clears the space between them and kisses her desperately. Santana loses all her breath and she gasps into Brittany’s mouth, wishing the makeshift bed were just a little bit closer.

 

When Brittany pulls back, a hand is in her hair and Brittany’s holding the ring between them. “Will a ring do?” she whispers.

 

As Santana looks down at it, she can just catch sight of something etched inside of the band. As Brittany toys it in her fingers, she can just about make sense of what it says.

 

 _Brittany Susan_ , she reads and Santana feels a question rise in her mouth before she can stop it.

 

“Where’s your last name?” she asks.

 

Brittany’s eyes sparkle and they both already know the answer.

 

“Pierce might not always be my last name,” she whispers and it sounds so good that Santana can’t stop herself.

 

She kisses Brittany quickly, hands bracing her face as one of Brittany’s arms wraps around her waist to steady her. Santana doesn’t know why but it feels better than any kiss they’ve ever shared. She whimpers into Brittany’s mouth and doesn’t understand how they find themselves on their feet when they break apart. They’re the same height because of Santana’s heels and she pauses to kiss Brittany’s nose before she pulls back.

 

Brittany looks punch-drunk and dizzy. Her eyes flutter and she sucks on her bottom lip before speaking.

 

“Is that a yes?” she asks dreamily.

 

Santana kisses her again, slower this time and struggled through their wide smiles. “What do you think?”

 

“I think I’ve always wanted to hear you say ‘yes’,” Brittany admits in a laugh.

 

Santana brushes back her hair and gets that feeling again, the one that makes her feel like Brittany’s never going to stop surprising her. It doesn’t scare her. In fact, it makes her all kinds of excited.

 

“Then yes,” she whispers.

 

Brittany’s smile is wide and bright. When she pushes the ring onto Santana’s finger, Santana barely notices because Brittany’s never looked so beautiful. She kisses her slowly and wonders how they must look, standing here in this room filled with photographs and fairy lights. She wonders what people will think when they tell them, if they’ll understand. She wonders if they’ll get it. She hopes they won’t because this isn’t something she wants to share. It’s theirs and it’ll be theirs forever.

 

“Do you want to dance?” Santana asks because she can’t think of anything else that would make this better than the pair of them stood in this room in pretty dresses, dancing. It makes her think of the future, of their future, that’s coming towards them quicker than they could have ever hoped for.

 

Brittany rests their foreheads together and smiles. “There isn’t any music.”

 

Santana bites her lip before giggling softly. “Then you better sing to me,” she says.

 

Brittany’s smile softens as she takes her hand and holds it between their chests. Their arms wrap around each other and she begins to move them slowly on the spot as Santana patiently waits for Brittany to begin singing.

 

“ _I give her all my love_ …” she whispers so only Santana can hear. “ _That’s all I do… and if you saw my love… you’d love her too…”_

“ _I love her_ ,” they both finish at the same time.

 

And in that moment, as they’re dancing to a rhythm that’s all their own, that’s how Santana knows.

 

This is her life. This is her home. And it will be forever.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
